#i sure would have more than 2 nickels

[beechersnope]

i honestly think many ppl in this world are missing out on gta purely bc they associate it with being a boy game

[chinquix]

The inevitability of working in heritage is that you will mistake one of your colleagues for a portent of your imminent supernatural demise. More than once.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic!Danny Phantom- pt. 8

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been to the hospital in the past three years, I’d have enough money to buy a bag of skittles from Target. Most of it wasn’t for me though lol I’ll add this onto the list in a bit, but I tend to do that from my desktop but I’m still currently attached to an IV drip. I’ve also never been this hydrated in my life lmao

——

Danny poked a puffed up pufferfish. The poison floated through his ghost form and did nothing but give him a little zap. Danny chuckled, wiping away a bit of oil that had gotten onto the fish from a nearby oil spill. Jesus fuck. Danny knew that bald headed, easily drawn Vlad wannabe from across the river would do something terrible to Gotham’s waters (not that it needed help being atrocious to Danny’s clean water appreciation).

The puffer fish- Danny gave up on understanding Gotham’s water ecosystem, having realized that it was a cursed mix of saltwater and freshwater and swamp- gave a fearful little wiggle and Danny let it go, turning to the oil particles floating around.

Danny took out his phone.

“Danny? Why the hell are you calling at three in the morning?”

Danny raised a hand and blasted out some ice, gathering the oil up. “Hey Sam. If I got you into contact with Poison Ivy, do you think you could team up to get rid of Lex Luthor’s new holding company in Gotham?”

“Danny, are you asking me to commit an act of ecoterrorism?”

“That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve ever asked you to do.” Danny placed a hand on the ice mass and flew it, the oil, and himself across the river to Metropolis.

“Deal.” Sam’s voice gets further away as she pulled her phone from her ear. “I’ll text Tucker, see if he could futz with Luthor’s taxes. I heard her doesn’t even give his workers a livable wage, and that’s so not gonna fly.”

“Perfect! Thanks! We could totally meet up and hang out with my new friends!”

“Hah! That Tim guy? The one that wanted you to introduce Phantom to him?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, goth girl.”

“Sure, dork. I’ll swing by Friday?”

“Sure! Want me to pick you up?” Danny phased through Lex Luthor’s frankly ridiculous amounts of security measures, still completely invisible and towing a giant mass of oil covered ice.

“Cool. Now hang up. I actually need sleep.”

“Ah, you must be dead tired. I get it.”

Sam hung up, and a second later, Danny got a pic of her holding up a middle finger with her signature purple nail polish.

Danny stared down at the sleeping billionaire. Gross. He let his face re enter the visible spectrum and lowered the temperature of the room drastically. Luthor groaned, waking up as he shivered like a hyped up chihuahua.

Danny bared his teeth, glowing green skin reflecting the black holes of the universe and imploding stars and burning planets as he leaned towards the frozen two bit villain.

“RESPECT THE PLANET,” Danny snarled. He unmelted the invisible ice as he simultaneously made the oil visible, the entirety of the oil spill coating every single inch of Luthor’s penthouse bedroom. Danny winked out, but not before snapping a quick picture of Lex Luthor’s absolutely covered in his company’s oil spill.

If Danny had made sure that there were fish droppings mixed in with the oil… that was his own damn business.

——

Danny floated over to a brooding Batman.

“Do you have two hundred dollars on you?” Danny asked in lieu of a greeting.

Batman grunted a yes.

“Two hundred dollars for a photo of Lex Luthor being hit with karma.”

Batman instantly handed over the cash and received a printed out photo of Lex Luthor (in his Lexcorp pjs) covered by fossil fuel.

"Is this..."

"The oil from his oil spill? Yes."

Batman stared at the picture.

"Why was this more expensive than ID'ing corpses?"

"Cause it's funnier. And dead people deserve more consideration than a egg looking ass polluting everything he touches."

Superman zoomed into the space in front of them, face eager.

"I heard you had something about Luthor?"

Danny figured that Batman probably contacted the hero, and confidently said, "$200 for personal use, $300 for commercial use."

Superman quickly got together three hundred dollars in cash and quickly forked it over. Danny gave him another physical copy of the photo and a usb drive with the photo in a digital format.

"I am so pinning this up." Superman muttered.

"Get out of my city." Batman said flatly. Superman waved a hand, beamed at Danny, and left.

"Did you know Gotham's waters is a mixture of freshwater, swamp, and saltwater habitats?"

Batman grunted.

"Also, please stop stalking Danny Fenton. It's odd."

Batman swiveled his head over. "What."

Danny stared him down. "Stop. Stalking. Innocent. Bystanders. Or else I will recreate the phrase "drowned rat" with you as the subject."

Batman stilled.

"I don't kill, by the way. I can, however, dunk you in the sea and lift you up like a goth version of Simba."

Batman relaxed minutely. "I can't."

"And why not?"

Batman gave him a despairing look. "Have you met my children?"

"... Point."

[master-muffinn]

Asking the scavengers to hold your drink

Misfire

Not a good idea. He goes like, "yeah, sure!" but the moment you are gone he'll drink it. He does it on purpose with no regrets. What did you expect? He's a glutton and he steals food all the time, even from friends! And he won't buy you a new one either. "Sorry y/n i don't have any money on me right now"

Misfire: 0/10 trustworthy drink holder.

Spinister

He will also say 'yes'. But you shouldn't take too long, it gotta be quick! It could go two ways; either he gets distracted and forgets about your drink and you won't find it. Or the longer he looks at the drink the more suspicious it looks. "It looking at me funny, I think I will shoot it"

"NO!"

Spinister: 2/10

Grimlock

He will just stand there, holding your glass. Not knowing exactly what to do. Looking around and then on the drink without moving and looking confused. If it was Grimlock with better mentally health, then he would be the same but more protective and more confident and looking like a bodyguard.

"Nobody touch y/n drink on my watch!”

Grimlock: 8/10

Nickel

Honesty, she doesn't really want to, but she holds the glass anyway if it isn't too big. Don't expect her to hold your drink multiple times though or you will get the: “Why are you asking me all the time? Can't you just hold your own drink or ask someone else?” 😑 We know she was reliable with the D.J.D and it’s the same with you and your drink as well. The way you left your drink with her is the same way you get it back.

Nickel: 9/10

Fulcrum

"Oh okay". It's not a bad idea to ask Fulcrum. He will hold the drink with no problems…until he starts to second ask himself and overthink the situation. What if ‘someone’ he doesn't know approaches him with bad intentions and wants your drink? If that happens he will give the drink and run away. Hopefully he hasn't been shaking while thinking about it or the liquid in your glass will be less than when you left it.

Fulcrum: 5/10

Krok

Is the most ‘normal’ about it. He just holds it for you and still does what he is doing. Doesn't do anything weird with it, no drinking, just holding it. He doesn't bother asking what took you so long, unless you completely forgot about it.

However, he expects you to say ‘thank you’, or he won't do it the next time. (Krok deserves at least some appreciation).

Krok: 10/10

Crankcase

It depends. You most likely get a no, but if you ask again nicely, he'll might say yes. If he still says no, then it's better to ask someone else or he will be irritated and complaining. But if he says yes, he'll most likely just be sitting down and drinking his own drink in the other hand and looking grumpy around until you come back. If you take too long he is going to complain. "What took you so long?”

Crankcase: 6/10

Bonus: I can see Crankcase as the typical grandpa sitting in the corner of a party drinking beer and judging/watching people making fools of themselves on the dance floor and then use it against them later.

Thank you for reading! Have a good day! ^^ Reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

Post made by @master-muffinn

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Singing Songs and Being Kidnapped

ectoberhaunt24 day 3- archaeology fandom- dp x dc TW-none summary- Danny is bored and is making it everyone's problem

ao3 masterlist part 2 of APVG

Danny had grown bored and had started tapping his foot. He’d been humming at first but the bag over his head muffled the sound. (He’d been humming the chorus of Staying Alive. (the only part he knew) It was funny. Sue him. Actually, please don’t. He only had two nickels and a mint edition signed Dumpty Humpty record to his name. But you’d have to pry that from his cold, dead (well deader) hands!)

 But wait! He just had to be louder so he could be heard through the bag over his head. So, instead of just humming, he started singing out loud. He had an excellent singing voice no matter what Sam and Tucker and all his classmates and teachers and other Amity Parkers said. He made it through the song’s chorus ten times, trying his best to make the instrumental sounds with his mouth. He started wondering what other songs he could sing when he was so rudely interrupted.

“Will you stop it!” screeched the smelly man currently in the room guarding him.

“I’m booooooored!” Danny complained trying to flop back dramatically, forgetting he was tied to a chair so all that happened was a tiny shuffle.

“I don’t care!” the guard said. “Look,” the guard sounded like he was pleading, “They’re on the phone with Wayne now, which means Batman will probably break in, break my kneecaps and rescue you soon. Please don’t make my life anymore miserable in the meantime!”

Awww, poor guy. He was just trying to do his job. Maybe Danny should be nice. Nah. They’d kidnapped him, now they had to deal with him.

After singing the chorus of Staying Alive approximately more times than he cared to count, Danny started branching out into the choruses of other songs he knew before deciding just to start singing the song that never ends, because it goes on and on my friend. Someone (Danny) started singing it not knowing how it ends (that’s a mystery even the Ancients can’t solve, except for maybe Clockwork) and know Danny’s stuck repeating it forever just because, it’s the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend someone started singing it not knowing how it ends and now we’re repea–

Batman broke through the wall (leave the poor guy alone, he's allergic to doors) to find a henchman curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, and a kid who Batman could swear was one of his even with the bag still on the boy’s head.

Batman secured the goon, who still hadn’t stopped sobbing, before stepping over the man and removing the bag from the boy’s head. 

Yup, that definitely looked like one of his. He squinted. He didn’t think he adopted anyone recently, but…

“Thanks, Mr. Bat Furry Man. Sir.” said the young boy who immediately stood up, the ropes falling away.

The teasing and being able to escape the ropes, were two more points toward this being one of his kids.

“Hn.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok. Don’t get your spandex in a twist.” he said, rolling his eyes.

This had to be one of his! He even understood the bat-grunts!

“Glad you’re okay.” Batman placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you at dinner.” Then he leapt up, creating a hole in the ceiling. He then immediately jumped behind an ac unit, hissing as the light of the sun hit him. 

Curse the sun! Gotham wasn’t supposed to have sunlight! What was this? Some new villainous plot? Where was the smog? The smoke? The darkness!?

Down below, Danny blinked up at the hole in the ceiling, then looked down at the still crying henchman. “Well that was weird.”

Though… If the henchmen thought he was a Wayne kid, and Batman just called him son… did that mean… could Wes possibly be right?! But no, that was ridiculous! Surely, Batman would know his own kids!

Then again, he did remember Sam mentioning that there was a whole boatload of Wayne kids, and Wes had mentioned that the number of Bats pretty much lined up with the number of bats, and that the times of adoption lined up with the reveal of each new bat.

But whatever! Danny didn’t care! He had his own problems to deal with. Batman would just have to have dinner without him!

With a look toward the now unconscious henchman, Danny turned invangible (invisible plus intangible) and flew out so that he could return to the class.

Following his classmates' ecto-signatures, he found his way to a museum where he dropped into the middle of the group letting go of his ghostliness.

“Finally, took you long enough.” Sam muttered.

Danny rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I missed out on anything. I’ve seen most of this stuff on the jobs I do for Clockwork.”

Tucker smirked. “Speaking about your jobs for Clockwork,” Tucker motioned to where their classmates were huddled together in front of a mosaic, “look at what they found.” 

Danny shoved his way to the front, forgoing intangibility just to annoy them. Then he caught sight of what they were looking at and promptly turned green as a green tomato.

“Hey, Danny, why didn’t you tell us you looked so good in a dress?” Paulina snickered.

Danny turned even greener. “It’s a toga!”

His classmates snickered, and Danny flicked his fingers at the floor, covering it in a layer of thin ice. They yelped as they lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. Danny snickered, before darting away when they tried to pull him down too.

While Danny couldn’t wait to go home, being able to have fun with his class one last time before they all went their separate ways for college was really nice.

[doublekanble]

Ghost in your home.

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 8.5k

or, ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand or to fix you only ever serves to widen the distance. (have you ever love someone who died and came back so much you try to forced them into the mold of who they used to be without considering the fact they're no longer the same person? instead of learning to love them again? well have i got good news for you.) tw: toxic relationship (what's new). 2-4 have a progression of injuries and gorish talk. semi unreliable narrator alastor

1. His house is always at a pleasant 20 degree Celsius, but it always feels like 0.

“Now, I’m sure this is a bit upsetting, yes. But I assured you it’s for the better— “

Sharp yellow teeth grinded against each other, Alastor do his best to keep his own temper in check when another pillow hit his chest. The sounds of radio dials going haywire blares out for a second before evening itself out and turn to a low frequency hum. He picked these because he knows you would’ve love them, seems your tantrum triumph your love for the colors, after all. Standing a respectable distance away from you, at the door, he simply tries to focus on the positive.

“Shut the fuck up!” you roared, whipping your head around to stare into his eyes from where you’re hunching over, he would try chiding you for your nasty mouth, but that can wait until he’s sure you won’t rip the carpet apart. “What are you even trying to do?! Was killing me before not enough for you? You just have to hunt me down and make me lose my job— “

“—An extremely unnecessary and useless job that you’ll never have to bother with ever again!” when he starts to walk towards you, arms open and still trying to put you above himself, your snarled at him and lowered yourself, as if ready to lung at any minute. It wasn’t until you bring your hands up that he realized what you were doing, your fingers clutching the duvet below you tightly. Almost like a wounded animal retreating into its hiding spot before choosing to fight, you sat on your knee with sharp fingers, and in a single tug, you tear it into two.

“I wanted that job, Alastor! That was my job!” bellowing out at him with a fury he have never seen in you while bunching however much of the useless cotton that can fit in your hand, you tried to throw it at him again. It fell just below his feet and bloom open instead. Alastor doesn’t bother kicking it off to the side, opting to step over it and the other mess you made in your room. “You go and get yourself one that can guarantee you decent rooming and livable wage in this hellhole without selling your soul you dog!”

His shadow covers your figure as he look down at you with what he hoped is a more than amicable smile. That duvet and the torn books, the lamp and the drawers, everything, was picked out just for you. Now it’s all on the floor, even before he got to your room. He laughs.

“That’s absurd, love! Are you really trying to justify working in that pigsty for nickels and dimes? And even so,” Judging from the way you cowered and the interference in his voice, Alastor made a wild guess that he failed, but there’s no need to dwell on the specific. Light escaped to the corners when statics runs through the air before cutting off completely and red stares back at him from the bottom of your irises, you grow just a tad smaller in his eyes. “There is absolutely no need throwing such fits over minor disagreements. We’re both decent folks raised right, aren’t we?” you winced visibly when he cranks his neck to a sharp ninety-degree, he almost feels bad for you.

“It’s not ‘minor’, everything I worked for is gone. You scorched them like they’re nothing…” You grumble out and break the eye contact, tone spiteful but small. There’s a tinge of cautions in it now, like a dog with tail in between it legs, still growling from it belly but caution of the fight.

“I wouldn’t have burn anything that meant something to you, love,” Cooing at you, he can feel his bones shifting back into place as Alastor reaches out a hand to smooth out your hair, finally able to frets over your messy and unkept state from the morning outburst. You keep absolutely still under his hold. “All those frivolous rubbish you kept in that tiny living quarter of yours combine won’t worth half as much as a single item in this room! And look at where they all ended up…”

“They meant something to me, Alastor.” He glances down at his hand, your sudden grip on it was tight, with the nail on your thumb pressing right at his vein as a warning. He can tell when someone’s doing something to scared him, this isn’t that at all. You seem to almost be unaware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alastor finds the notion of you needing to know how to do this —or the fact you’re even doing it out of habit— wholly annoying and unpleasant. “I like them, and I worked to buy them with my own means.”

At that, he smiles, such a messy little thing, you always are. Awfully sentimental and always get caught up on the wrong thing. Alastor gets it, he really does. He gets sentimental over stupid, silly little objects and items too. The rock he picked up somewhere when he was five, placed in the corner of the drawer that he threw out once he found it again as an adult. His first tailored suit that he worked day and night for, collecting dust in his closet by the time he looked back. That letter of acceptance kept in a box, the one he burns the day that lousy owner of the radio station was discovered at a bottom of a creek and got replaced with someone much more pleasant.

Alastor has things he treasured too, and unlike you, he knows when to let something go and when to take a hold of it. That’s why your old place stand as nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind. You always have a knack for frantically holding onto your romanticism and the nonsensical. He honestly would rather be giving you more time to adapt, but not only are you horribly fussy about it, Alastor now has his good grace thrown in his face.

“Well then, if you’re so hung up on them, then you’ll feel more than at home to work for everything you’ve wrecked today, yes? Afterwards, we can get talking about getting you something else.”

You’re a terribly lucky thing, still able to even breathe where Alastor maimed so many for much less. He thinks you know you are, that’s only why you’re so insistent on being so difficult, glaring up at him with hate in your eyes and a such a rotten attitude.

“Get out,” your voice was small, but far from scared. With fingers curling around his wrist uselessly, you all but snarled, “Get. Out.”

“They’re awfully expensive, as you already know. They’ll do good to motivate you too. One stone two bird, as they’d say~” ignoring your silly attempt to provoke him into losing his temper again, Alastor wrapped his free hand around yours, and with what he thought was a gentle tug, pulls it from his wrist. He releases it when you winced, almost caught surprise by the change in the way you sit. Slightly hunching over, you held your hand close to you. His index nicked your wrist, and a bead of red ran from it.

Although it was no more than an accident, he knows you’re more than familiar with the ensembles of screams and cries running from the radio he placed in your room. You don’t need to know he will never let you join in with the harmony, but it’s nice to keep you on your toes sometimes.

“Stay good for me. Will you, darling?”

2. He gives you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more than you could ever need. He remembers your rapidly cooling body underneath him.

“Dearest,” sweetly, he calls out for you, gripping onto your shoulder, “Why are all the books in your bathtub?” he can tell it’s hurting you, but you keep your gaze far beyond the window and into the cityscape.

It wasn’t only the books, all of your lovely stationaries and art supplies and music sheets and what-else swims in that damned bathtub like a bloated corpse. Your room, although not as clean as it was before your little fit, it’s still a substantial improvement. It also gives you little to nothing in terms of fun aside from the lonely cacti sitting silently on a table with scratch marks, you’d refuses to step foot outside unless he needs you at the dinner table. Say whatever you want, Alastor is everything but heartless when it came to you, so he starts coming up with ways to give you some fun in your life.

He thought it’ll be the right thing to do, gifting you something for you to spent your times on and make a home out of your room. Which, in turns, might be the first push he needs for his home to become yours, too. He couldn’t really give himself too much credit, though. If anyone were to pay attention, they would all come to the same conclusion about you. Terribly restless and honest little thing, always on the move, always doing something. That’s what he loves so much about you, you can’t hide a single thought from him with how you can barely keep yourself together at times. Anything you feel always came up to your face. And if you were to dislike someone, he will know.

Even by the end, where you eventually grew quieter and more muted, looking behind your shoulders and fretful over invisible shadows hiding in the dark; your heart still stays so comically beautiful and kind. So lovingly, you still use the same fountain pen he gifted you. You were still you. So when he got you those things, Alastor was somewhat hoping to see just what you can come up with to further antagonized him. He’s not delusional as to hot-blooded and petty you are. You can hate him in this moment, but he knows you well enough to know you’ll never be like him. Always the kinder of the pair; you were never one for outright belligerent.

“I don’t know,” your voice was airy and light, then, “I don’t like any of them.”

But now, without him noticing, your eyes somehow carried the same glint as he does.

Down here in Hell, the day always been just a little bit brighter than the night. Obnoxious red always painted the sky, it’s really the furthest thing from the scenery back on Earth. Even then, the evening shade reflected in your eyes almost reminded him of the lovely days of being alive. With his red thumb practically piercing your collarbone with how hard he’s pressing down on you, sitting on the only chair in the room that’s still intact, by your half clawed-up desk, face sitting all neatly in the palm of one hand; you can almost be considered graceful like this, body lax and a wistful gaze. Alastor can almost be taken by the sight. Almost.

Although Alastor was only trying to turn you towards him for yet another scolding, for a second, he’d forgotten just how easy it is for his claws to tear. One moment, you were on the only chair left in the room, staring out a window and paying no mind to his growing ire. Another, you crumbled on the floor, hand replaced his. Slightly dazed from what just happened, he stands and watches on while you clutch at the bits of tendon and bones showing through skin, trying to squeeze the opening together with shaking hands. Red streams through between your fingers without a care as the familiar smell of metallic fills the room. You now faced towards the floor, frozen stiff like a scared little fawn. Alastor couldn’t bring himself from the sight. Right, you’re made of flesh, too.

He clenched the hand that touched you once to get rid of the ache soaking itself in his bone marrow, opens it, then twice, as if testing out the way your blood settles on his blackened palm. Shaking himself awake, he can almost feel the hunger clawing through his throat and molding itself into the will to bite. You really are lucky, if you were any old Joe, you wouldn’t even have a shoulder to rest that stupidly stubborn head of yours on.

“Darling,” a knee touching the floor, he kneels at his spot and reach a bloody hand out, moving the tip-over chair out of the way with another. An apology on the tip of his tongue, he bites and swallowed it when you inched yourself back just a bit with eyes still glued to the stained carpet. You wouldn’t really deserve one anyway. Long, heavy breath seeps through your bared teeth, your hold on that obnoxious gash tightened while the floor beneath you catches the blood that fell in droves. He sighs. “Come now, I’ll help clean you up.”

He can hear the sound of your heart, still frantically beating as you refused to answer or take his hand. Through the curtains of your bangs, he spots wild eyes darting to the door, before settling on his patiently waiting red claws. The moment you looked as if ready to bolt away, Alastor decides that he have been more than patient with you – seizing you by the elbow and dragging you up, he took you to his room for the day. You made a weak attempt at fighting out of his grip before giving up entirely. When your footstep slowly catches up to him, he thanked Lucifer.

In his well-decorated and tidy bathroom, over your humiliated protest and pitiful whine, Alastor forced a proper apology from your mouth while he scrubbed away the urge to sink his teeth into something and the crusted brown clinging to your flesh with a sponge and a grip too tight. You couldn’t complaint, too focused on what must be one of the worst pain you’ve felt since the day you were reborn. There’s nothing he can do for you, he thought to himself – you can handle a little more pain, you were so insisted about being so unfairly difficult despite his multiple humbling attempts at a peace offering or at least a truce. A brat until the end of time, no matter the length he’d go through for you.

Alastor would’ve wondered over and over to himself about just what was it that makes you so incredibly indispensable to him, but he knows why already. Standing by his window after patching you up and sending you back to your room with a “gentle” warning, leaving the bathtub ordeal to be dealt with tomorrow and having nothing else to do, he let a familiar tune plays from the neglected microphone leaning on his bed.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. Everything he does since the day he buried his bastard of a father below the soil of the earth have been mark and marred with several distinct goals in mind. So that his mother can finally live the life God owed her, so that he can live the life he deserves, Alastor cheated and lied his way through life and climb up the social rank. With bloody hands and a silver tongue, he bought a house in a nice neighborhood and became well known amongst the community for his charm. And somewhere along the way, with dirt caked under his nails, he finds you in his life and you stayed until the day you died.

Life in New Orleans was always colorful, even when he was surfing through the night alone. But with you, it’s like getting to live through the good part twice. The day you died, a part of him died with you on the forest floor. Blooming under rotting leaves and buried below the rocks is the one other person that Alastor dare entrusted with his heart. It rots too, along with you, but he never really minded it all. Alastor knows you; he knows why you’re utterly indispensable to him.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. But as Alastor, he finds that thoughts and daydreams can never talk and laugh like you do. In your absence, his thoroughly decayed heart only grows fonder of the you he remembers. When he came down here, he wasn’t able to bring a single thing of you with him. When he finds his way back up there, everything of yours was burnt and destroyed. So for the longest time, Alastor lives on with the thought of you in his mind and your warmth in his heart.

It's awfully painful, he quietly admitted to himself, it’s awfully painful how, even though you’re just a walk away now, room set right next to his, divided by thick wood; Alastor has never felt so much further away from the life he envisioned. His claws, clean of your blood, dance on the windowsill as he hummed along to a tune from the older days, the better days. He’s willing to wait, however. You surely will come around, you have to, and when you do, you’ll laugh about your stubborn streaks and poke fun at his willingness to let you trampled all over his ego like this. Surely.

For now, for the rest of the night, Alastor sat and stare out the window with nothing in mind. He hopes this feeling of fulfilled emptiness can leave before it takes roots in his heart.

3. The AM radio frequency only read white noise. He can’t hear your voice.

Your miserable sobs don’t get any quieter, even when he slammed the door closed.

Leaning against it with a huff, Alastor brushes off the familiar and unwelcome fatigue settling in his mind and adjusted the collar of his vest with one hand. There’s no use in going in there again for the night. If there’s one thing he can ever be sure of, it’s that you would throw yourself out the window the moment you see him again and made an even bigger mess for him to clean up. It’s shameful to admit he ever lose control over himself like that. In a perfect world, nobody should know the exact buttons to push like you do, no word should ever get to him like yours does. But Alastor long since accepted that if you were to ask for his heart, you’ll have it on a silver platter. You’re very firm on taking the stand of martyrdom before you ever ask him for anything, but he likes to think that he’s working towards that.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastor started towards the kitchen. He hasn’t cook anything for the day yet, and he’s sure that the first-aid kit was still in there from your last tantrum. All this trouble, and he can’t even make a roast out of this. He knows you’re not too fond of meatloaf – or anything he made for you nowadays – but it’ll have to do, since you’re so keen on wrecking his schedule with your childish attempt at a spat and your nonsensical sentimental for that useless life you kept insisting you want back. Despite all of it, he does feel just a tad bit of pity for you. You, and your right arm, the one sitting silently in his left, bleeding all over his carpet floor. Hopefully this will teach you to stop moving around so much next time, you’re not unfamiliar with a broken wrist, but you just kept writhing and clawing at his hands, and his slipped.

Quite frankly, this is still a much better life than for you to be in the same room and so close to those revolting roughnecks and floors stained with Satan-knows-what. He can’t even fathom just why you’re still clinging onto it so tightly when there’s so much for you here. When he’s here.

He stills remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he makes his way to a figure quickly retreating behind the counter, under the dim lights and the rowdiness of a dingy café that barely qualifies as one. He wasn’t sure at first – Hell has a way of masking one’s appearance with a roulette game, and despite his growing contracts and connections, information might just be wrong. You could’ve been exorcised, or even worse, managed to wrangled your way into Heaven somehow and left him down here alone. But he placed his confident in a good friend, who promised him that if this isn’t you, then nobody else can be.

Bless the Christian God himself for his mercy, the moment he let that familiar name fell from his lips again after so many years of living without it, Alastor find himself staring into the same gaze that haunted his waking days and sleepless night. Holding onto you with a bruising grip, when you finally bring yourself to stare back at him like a deer in front of head light, his rotting heart comes alive with a fervor and he knew you’ll never be separated from him ever again. Back in his arms and under his wings.

Despite the time it took and your less-than-ideal reunion, he was more than thrilled to show you he finally made good of himself down here, just like he said he would. As Alastor lead you back with a smile splitting his face open, he tells you all about what he’s been doing. In his house is a room prepared just for you with everything you’ve ever love that he can get his claws on. It used to sit there and taunt him in the night where the silence stretches on and on and nothing in the underworld can distract him from the idea of your separation lasting until the end of time and the end of his life, that for all his preparations to make sure you two will never parted, he managed to miss the one chance he had with you in life. His halls echoed a voice that he barely able to recalled while he chased a shadow he desperately tries to remembers in whatever he can remember of you. The passage of time and his work might take your lovely voice and visage from him, but it will never let him forget how you feel about dark coffee or your favorite composer.

The time he lost being far away from you, the time you both lost being away from each other, Alastor was ready to make up for all of it. With good food, good wine, a good home and a good life. Finally, nobody will ever be able to turn their nose up at you both. If they do, he has more than enough means to fix it. His broadcast station no longer stays dependent on some white hotshot he needs to keep in a good mood at all time, it now plays only the things Alastor wants it to, forever. And now that you’re back, it’ll plays whatever it is you want too. All of it, just for yours and his sake alone. And then you turn your nose up at him, demanding for your old pathetic life back.

Ever since Alastor found you and took you home, you’ve been nothing but ungrateful, unpredictable, and downright hazardous to yourself and his furniture. Nothing like the darling he cared for from way back then. All bites and no barks, that’s what your silly threats and your mischief used to be in life. It’s nothing here, too, but he can only get so far restraining you to your bed until you learn how to break your own hands and slip it through the cuffs. You were always a lot of things, but this vindictive side of you still are so incredibly off-putting to him.

And yet, even with all of this, Alastor’s eroding heart breaks for you. Recently, he discovered an old book, one he took with him from the burning pile of your apartment and kept in his overcoat for a long time. It was a book that you shared with him when you both were alive, he was more than elated once reminded of the fact. Stained with black on the cover and slightly misshapen, the book must’ve gone through so much, considering your occupation at the time. Alastor remembers just how hard it is to get used to the disrespectful crowd down here, even for someone like him who can simply waved his hand and turn them into red paste on the filthy streets. You must’ve been so confused and scared, having to re-familiarized yourself to a new and much more unwelcoming world, making your way through an utterly horrific landscape without him there to help you with.

Naive, kind hearted and gentle you, even when you’ve killed before, you’re an easy prey in an awful, awful world. Mother always reminded him that wounded animal takes time to trust and they bite and clawed their way out of hands that moves too fast, so he need to make good by her words and keep on giving you just that, time. No matter the fact you barely improve, no matter how much time he gave you, or the fact it was him who clawed off your arm in the first place.

So, with a bright attitude, Alastor strides to your shut door with the sounds of your hysteria long gone. He knocks three times and calls out to you, then leave you alone with the first-aid kit. He’ll give you until midnight to do it yourself.

4. Love and hate are a hair away, he realized he hates loving you at times.

You’ve been improving, day by day. You stop biting back so much and starts to listen more, you sit when he asked you to and learned not to talk so brazenly while you’re at it, too. You don’t ever smile, yes, and his hallways still feel so cold at times. You walked as if you’re on eggshells, and you sleep with your body huddled under the blanket, as if there’s something hiding in the dark that will take you away if you dare peak out from it. You stacked books and boxes underneath your bed, too.

At times, Alastor felt like he’s having a guest staying over, maybe it’s because you’re acting more and more like one. Someone whom he knows well enough to accommodate their every need, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity, of the fact they’re not a close enough friend to stay over for so long, and their every decision needed checking. The thought itself is beyond ridiculous, he knew you for years before you died. He’s the closest friend you have, alive or death. He knows how you like your eggs; he memorized your voice; he knows when you need to sleep and when you like to wake up. But he digressed. Progress is progress, you’re getting better day by day, and he only ever have to threatened you a bit at times.

Which must’ve been why it felt so wrong, holding you like this.

He can only hope you won’t be able to discern his heavy panting over your own growing panic. Alastor could’ve sworn that he’s a better man than this, that he has more patience and more tact, already lived through a childhood with his head down and a smile stitched neatly on his lips. But he rationalized the way his pointer and thumb pinch together with the same compassion he have for a stray dog, separate only by your tongue, slowed and unmoving only by his own desire to give you another chance to explain yourself and take back your word and let him returns to his days of thinking you’re getting better, never minded the fact he’s not hearing anything out of his good ear right now. It’s not that he’s drawn to the way your pupils dilating and turned pinprick as your near incoherent pleading slowly cut itself off, realizing this might not end well. It’s not that he’s intently observing the trickle of blood running into the back of your throat, or the way your hot breath hit his hand, unable to close your jaw from the grip he has on you.

From the first dawn of this day until mere minutes ago, things were just lovely. Alastor managed to hold a ten-minute conversation with you in the morning, and by noon, able to coaxed you out of your hiding spot and onto your seat at the table with the promises of getting you whatever else you requested, as long as you keep your manner in check. You raised an eyebrow at the unusual and grand display of dishes for what you must’ve thought was a normal meal, but you stay silent. The four walls in your room had to be decorated by his own hands, and anything you refuses to keep, you throw into the toilet or buried under your growing number of plants out in the garden he’s not allowed to step foot in; thusly, there’s no longer a calendar in your room for you to keep tracks on dates.

When he pulls out a bottle of wine – full bodied, his favorite from when he was alive, it feels like blood sliding down his throats at times – you look at him, your eyes tells a world of distrust as he smile at you and pour it into two glass and hand you one. Alastor could’ve cried true tears of joy when you accepted it without making a fuss and simply placed it by your left, picking up a fork with your dominant hand. You waited for him to say something, before quietly thank him for the food and starts to eat.

For most of the meal, you work away at your own plate while he talks for the both of you. Alastor doesn’t mind, the fact you bothered to pay attention is good enough, occasionally nodding along or giving him a small huff or two. You’ve been doing a great job at staying in line ever since a year ago, especially once you learned you’re also made of flesh, just like the rest of the voices stuck in his broadcast. Alastor would’ve gladly taken this, if not for how you’re glancing off every now and then, contemplating something.

Particularly, you’ve been holding onto your glass for an awfully long time now, drifting off in the middle of him relaying an encounter he had the day before. Alastor pauses when you take it near your face and cleared your throat.

“…It’s not your birthday today.” You said, nonchalantly staring into the bottom of the glass, spinning it to and fro between the middle of your pointer and thumb.

“I’m glad you still remember my birthday, dear. But yes, it’s not! It’s surprising you can even tell what day it is!” he laughs.

You only glance up, before letting out a deep sigh, “You’re way more eager on your birthday.”

“Well then love, would you care to enlighten me on how I am today?” Alastor leans over the table with a smile, mood light and hoping you stop with the implications. You look angsty, however, gently lifting the glass up to your lips and take a small gulp. When you finally look at him again, Alastor felt his smile strains, he knows what that look means.

“What day is it?” with a clink, the glass landed on the table and stay there, “It’s not my birthday, nor is it yours. It’s not a holiday, too, far as I know. “

The corner of his lips pulls taut, his half-lidded eyes stare straight into yours. The sounds of something sharp pulls through the radio, but you refuse to back down. Alastor caved and took his own glass into his right hand.

“I was going to keep it a secret until we finished with our meal, but if you’re so insistent on spoiling the surprise—“ taking a long sip before continuing, if this goes south, he might need something stronger, “—It’s been a year since the day we reunited, right on the dot. I figured we should do something to celebrate, but you’ve always been such a stick in the mud about your past. So, I was going to have us finishing the meal first— “

The clanking of silverwares being drop onto porcelain plate was the first thing he catch, the ear-grating sound of your chair scrapping harshly against the kitchen floor’s the second. With both hand bracing against the table, you look half ready to launch yourself over it and kill him with your bare hands, but you breathe in, back straight, and simply look at him.

“Your mother would be livid if this is the you she knows.”

You looked as if you still have something else to say, but in a second, he have your face in his hand, grinning down at you while the base of his horns itch and creaks.

“Apologies, dear. I think I’ve heard something wrong,” the lights in the room flickered, in between the burning bright and the cold dark, he can only see red, “Do you want to try and repeat that for me?”

“Your fucking mother would’ve hated you.” Over the radio static bursting his own eardrums and your lovely voice spewing utter putrid, he tucked a thumb in before you can properly close your mouth, you clamped down onto it and grinded your teeth. He laughs.

“Oh~ you think you’re so incredibly brave, aren’t you?” sticking in another thumb, Alastor slowly pried your mouth open, the more he does, the quicker your attitude change, “So strong and so special. You can handle yourself just fine without me, can’t you? nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

“Al—waih—“ you choked out, desperate. But he’s not having it today.

His pointer and thumb pull on your tongue.

Alastor swore up and down, he was raised a tactful and patient man. He followed his mother‘s word very carefully and tries his best to be charitable with you.

With eyes glued onto the trail of his blood, quickly drying on your chin, then to your tongue, with increasing pressure, he can feel his smile splitting open his own face, but there’s no joy to be found in his woeful, heavy heart.

It feels so wrong, holding you like this. He feels so wrong, looking into your eyes. You almost certainly accepted your fate by now, he feels a bit bad for you. So utterly helpless in his hold, realizing just how little power you truly have without his generous love, giving into you and letting you plays out your fantasy, even after everything you did. He knows you’re still getting used to this, he knows you needed more time. Alastor would almost consider this a lesson learned, but the statics blinds him to your pain, and for a moment, all he knew was that he wanted you to feel the same pain as he does.

So, because he loves you so much, because you want to hate him so badly, he ignored your hysterical cries as he pinches down on your tongue, then in one motion, he rips it from your nasty, bitter mouth.

5. Before he realized it, you weighted 21 grams.

It’s almost like he’s haunted, at times. The thought would’ve been amusing.

Humming a tune and walking up the three steps leading to the front door, Alastor eyed the Ficus sitting on either side of him, a brown leaf fell from the lulling branch while he fetching the keys from his pocket with one hand. They’re wilting faster than he can water them. What a shame it really is, not only have you lost your will for everything, you also lost the mood to take care of tacky house plant decor. Maybe he should try for some Begonia next?

“I’m home, love!”

Alastor is greeted with an empty corridor and a faint melody dancing through the air. He can only sigh and step further into his home, heading for the kitchen. Every day he hoped something would magically change, and every day Lucifer laughed at him from the top of his luxurious throne.

You can hear him, he knows you do. You managed to crawl all the way into the studies just to put on a song the moment he steps foot outside the house, after all. It’s a blessing, how you haven’t bolt right back into your room the moment you hear the door opened, you must’ve been in a good mood. He hopes you can stay that way until tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t, as long as you’re willing to eat whatever he puts in front of you. He peaked into the spotless kitchen, and with nothing out of place, he stepped inside.

Setting the groceries down, he pulled out everything he needs for dinner. Already with a dish in mind, Alastor whisked out an iron cast pot and set it on the stove. He shooed his shadows off and away, he can prepare for this recipe himself, and he want to be alone for a while anyway. He prepares all the ingredients before getting to the rice. The music flows from upstairs as he works in silence, mindful of his own microphone and keeping it off.

He doesn’t remember this song, it must’ve been one of the newer ones Rosie gave him to give back to you, assuring him you “just need more fun things in your life, then you’ll get to talking again”. Alastor wasn’t sure if you would’ve like it enough for him to keep it, but he wasn’t going to bother fighting with Rosie.

Turning the fire down, he closed the lid and set the kitchen timer to twenty-two on the dot. It should be enough time for him to make the roux, but he can check the rice early. Pouring oil into a pot to his right, he turned the fire up to max and began whisking the flour into it, when it turned brown, he drops the onion in and lower the heat to medium.

If not for him constantly reminding you, you would’ve ignored the needle-like pain in your stomach. Granted, you ignore it even when he did remind you, so he took to just make things and leave it in your room until you’re in the mood to eat. It’s been going on for two years now, enough time for him to regret playing into your hands and losing his temper. Alastor had hope that if he were to deprived you of everything he’s willing to give you for some times, you would finally get it through your thick skull that he only ever wanted good for you. Only, the you that greeted him after three long month was silent and still, lying on your bed with close eyes. The only sign you’re still alive in the first place was your breathing, almost invisible to the common eye.

He remembers hovering over you, a finger set on your chin and pulls it down. With an odd lump in his throat and a heaviness he rarely knows of, Alastor let out a weak chuckled, watching as a reformed lump of meat pulsates and weakly twitching in place of your tongue. Turns out, without the correct nutrients, the citizen of hell could only pray that whatever injury they obtained will kill them faster than they can heal it. And just as fate would have it, you’ve been holding onto such a thing ever since he locked you in.

Maybe that’s why your eyes haven’t change since, maybe that’s why you refuse to talk, maybe it still hurts, and maybe you afraid of getting used to the comfort he provides you. Or maybe you hated him for it, he wouldn’t know, you never really made yourself clear since that day. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without anything that he gave you, and he’s trying his best now to make sure it’ll stay the longest you will ever go without anything ever again.

The roux turned a dark, shiny brown. He added almost everything else and stirs it for five minutes sharp. Quickly checking the rice once the timer calls for his attention, Alastor turned off the fire and reaches for the tomatoes and stocks. The music from upstairs come to a halt.

It’s became synonymous with you now, silent and stillness. Somewhere in the middle of an evening, Alastor came to the oddly upsetting realization that you just as well never return to the same you that he was trying so hard to recover.

Throwing in the two ingredients, he raises the heat back to high. When it began to boils, he puts it to medium and let it simmers for six minutes. A shadow came by and whispered winds and chimes into his flickering left ear, you’re back in your room with the gramophone.

When he was alive, every moment spent with you was bright and different. You were a wild spark of fire in the cold city, silently chasing after dreams with a caring and delicate heart. Your shared mirth used to fill the room as you talk over jazz and the constant chattering from loudmouth patrons. Those days became the only thing he held onto in the midst of his busy life down here.

Then one day, within his first few years of working his way up the ladder, still without your shadow haunting the empty room in his house; Alastor looked back on those days, the better days, and realized he can’t remember the exact note of your voice, he can only recall that you were happy. So he hunts down every corner of hell in a rush, afraid that the rest of you will slip away again. He laughs silently to himself; a meaningless thought crosses his mind. Is there even any of you left to fall through his fingers?

Putting the heat to low and adding in butter, he stirs until it blends and throws the shrimps and scallions in and something else hit him. He hasn’t been able to pin down the exact note and tone you tend to laugh in yet, nor have he able to watch any of your painting comes to life. He kept on stirring, after three minutes, he added seasoning. He catches a faraway song, barely making out the notes, he thinks that’s your favorite.

For weeks now, he kept going over everything he could’ve done wrong. Although he tries to ignore it, the animosity you shown since the second you saw him in Hell, maybe even before you’re dead, it might’ve stemmed from before he chased you down in the woods. But you know what he can do even in life, and you should’ve known Alastor would never hunt you down just to lock you inside the cacophonies he broadcasts on the daily. Alastor can at least understand that he struggled between giving into you and maintaining control. Perhaps that’s where your path diverts, perhaps you’re not meant to be by his side after all, ever since the day you die. Maybe you died before he even got to buried you, but Alastor can no longer pinpoint since when you died because he doesn’t know since when you started to play along with him. All he knows is that if he were to stops your breathing today, you’ll wake up tomorrow with no faith lost in him. The thought sits in his stomach and made itself home. But that’s alright.

Alastor rather stomached the idea of breaking you, the alternative was worse. If a life time of chasing your shadow only resulted in endless hate, that’s alright to him. As long as you’re still breathing and by his side, there’s surely a place for him in your heart. Surely.

His microphone sudden sparks up to life and died again. Right, the food, dinner. He gets to setting up your plate.

Having lived for this long, Alastor’s used to playing along and getting along with the oddest of crooks. He’s unsure of how to ever get along with you, though. You have been nothing but nasty and callous before, but at least you talk and react. Now, you walk at a slowed pace, no longer making any sort of distinguishable noise as you do. Less of a guest, and more of a transparent image of someone he barely able to call himself an acquaintance to.

Or more precisely, it’s as if he’s fostering a ghost in his own home, and now he’s going through all the troubles that came with one. At first, the ghost thrashed and trashed everything, confused and in pain and determined to hurt. Then, the ghost calmed and it starts making compromises to try and look for a way out. What he have now, Alastor muses as he plated your meal and ready his heart, is the melancholy of the ghost. When the grieving and the anger and the bargaining and the hurt passes on and left the shell behind, there’s only ever the emptiness lingering.

The stairs creaks under his shoes, shadows hanging around the corner and slowly melts back under Alastor as he walks by. One in particular waits on your door and chirps when he stepped towards it, seemingly in a good mood, its laughter akin to windchime as it reconnects itself to him. He ignores it and knock three times to give you time and hide away whatever it was you’re working on. The music kept on playing, a vulgar but joyous song burst through the door the instant he opens it, Alastor swallowed his disdain and step inside with a smile.

“Lovely tune, dear. Is it one of Rosie’s discs?” facing out the window, you sit at your desk, long void of the marks from your first tantrum. From here, he can see your index finger tapping gently to the beat, you must’ve memorized it. “Certainly interesting taste you both shared…but I’ll make sure to ask her for more.”

Living with the melancholy of the ghost means you know there’s something there, behind the peeling wallpaper and below the hollowed floorboards. You talk to it every day. You tell it about the dreams you abandoned on the sidewalk since you were a child in favor of carving out a path for yourself, you tell it about your day. You whispered words heavy with affection in the morning and practice your apology to it in the night. You do all of it, knowing it doesn’t have the vocal cord to formulate words, knowing even if it does, it won’t talk to you anymore. But you have hope.

Akin to whispering into an empty seashell, he supposed, there’s always the sounds of the waves hiding deep inside, but there’s no voice. He should get you some seashells, maybe that can give you some joy.

“I figured you’d like something a bit more filling, so shrimp étouffée it is! I met sir Vox on the way to the grocer, and we have a rather pleasant chat. He mentioned some talkies I think you’d quite enjoy, too.” he laugh, standing behind you. Alastor catches the charcoal line on white paper, knitting together to create a familiar figure that he just can’t quite put together yet, more taken aback by the fact you haven’t bothered to cover it up at all. He divert his eyes and place the plate down, right by your left hand. “But you wouldn’t ever be in the mood for it, and it sounds far from my taste, so I turn down the offer to go with him.”

Living with a ghost means you see shadows in the corners of your eyes and hear your familiar home echoes a thousand scream at night, but living with its melancholy means plunging deep under the ocean floor and hearing nothing but the silent of the water. Where there’s supposed to be sound, there’s only the slight echoes of one, barely reaching your ears under the blue. You learn to embrace the silence and linger in its weightlessness.

His ears flickered twice when a sigh escaped your lips, barely audible under the belting of a jazz singer. Alastor let his right hand lingered by your shoulder, you shrink a bit under his touch, he doesn’t move.

“The Ficus died. I was hoping they last longer than the roses would, but you were right,” Leaning in just a bit closer, Alastor laugh, “I never really have a talent for cultivating plants, it seems.”

And then one day, you look back, and maybe you’ll finally see that there was no ghost. And you’re all alone in a house that used to be a home, with dirt under your fingernails and blood leaking under your door. And while you drag a corpse to its final resting place, you hear dogs barking and feel rows of sharp teeth bit into your arms, there’s a familiar clicking sound. When you look up, the world embraces you in a white and burning pain for a single tick of a second. And then you came back to life, just as new. In a new house, in a new world, you do it all over again, you go and look for the ghost.

But a ghost is see-through and rigid cold and it held onto regrets it can never fulfill with cold hands and misty eyes. You’re warm and tangible and alive under his hands even after everything but he’s not sure if you still have any regrets you haven’t given up on, other than meeting him. Having a ghost haunts him would’ve bring less heartache, too.

Ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand you, to bring back the old you, the you he adores, the you he longed for, only ever serves to buried that you six more feet under the ground. He hates to admit defeat, but he thinks you won’t ever be the same anymore.

“I’ll think I’ll get some Gardenia and Begonia tomorrow for the front porch, but you should keep some in here. It must be boring only seeing the same five things a day, love.” With that, he slinks back out the hallway. Taking a final look of you, he closed the door without a goodbye, he never felt well saying such a thing to you anymore. As Alastor walks back down to the kitchen, another song plays out from your room.

Like the rest of the plants Alastor inevitably rots but refusing to stop holding onto, you also rot. His dinner table is set for two, and one of them is for a corpse. For the rest of the night, like every night, he drowned out the sound from your room with a bottle of whiskey and the thought of a you he can barely recalled. Without knowing what he’s holding onto, Alastor came to an oddly hallowing realization that he might've never know you at all.

He hoped you won't know, but maybe that's why you let him see your sketchbook.

(if he’s a ghost, will you let him hold you again)

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 12: Flower Petals

Bearblr Promptober Day 12: Blindfolds

Summary: In which Carmy's girlfriend suggests a blindfold to see if he can perceive better touch that way.

Warnings: Swearing, written with fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described) in mind, she/her pronouns, blindfolding, nervous bean Carmy, fluff.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Reblogs appreciated. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

12 Oct 2024 Learned a new thing: I love blindfolds.

I can’t feel all that well with my hands, right? Well, with my fingers, which doesn’t help too much when I’m feeling up Darling. It’s been affecting me more than I thought it was, made especially apparent since I noticed the discrepancy in sensation, somehow even more so since she’s been getting handsier with me. She’s found the spots that make my muscles unfurl, the ones that make me melt into a boneless heap on the couch, and the ones that make me go bright red in the face. She’s found the ones that soothe her to touch—ghosting her thumb over my knuckles, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger, a recent favorite of hers seems to be slipping her thumb or fingers into my mouth (yes, it fucks me up. No, that’s not what this is about).

Meanwhile, I run my fingers through her hair, and it just doesn’t really feel right? Like, I feel something, of course, but it’s dull, and I want more to squeeze a fistful of the strands, to dig my thumb into the sections of her braid so I can actually feel any of it.

So, she suggests I try blindfolding myself.

“Why would I want to do that?” Shit, that sounded terrified. “Uh, I-I just want to understand your reasoning.”

“Are you nervous, baby?” she asked, settling on the edge of the bed next to me.

Of course, she caught it.

I raked my hair back. “Uh, yeah? I guess? I, uh…” No, I’m not getting locked up again, even if my face started going warm. “Tell-tell me more about it.”

She folded her thin, green scarf into a narrow strip in her lap. “Well, when you don’t have information from your eyes to rely on, your brain has to rely on information from other places. Sometimes, it can make you perceive other sensory input better. You might be able to learn how to focus on what you feel more so that you can then do that without having to use an actual blindfold.”

“Why can’t I just close my eyes?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose you can, but the blindfold is a signal to your brain that your eyes can’t be used for a while. Trust me, if you can, you will open your eyes and just look.”

I suppressed a smirk. “You’ve done this before.”

She nodded.

“Okay.” I folded one leg up on the bed so I could turn towards her.

“We should have a safe word. Something that will come to mind and that signals to me that you immediately need this to stop.”

“Why not ‘stop?’” I felt stupid asking, but I knew she wouldn’t laugh at me.

“Um. There are reasons, but we’re going to get really off topic really fast if I get into them.”

“Will you explain them after?”

“Sure.”

“Nickel.”

She tilted her head.

“Nickel. ‘If I had a nickel…’ Don’t ask me why it doesn’t leave my head, I have no idea.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is that like… a song…?”

“I-I honestly don’t know where I got it from.”

“Okay. Nickel.” She smiled. Cradled my face in her hand. “Come on. We should be comfy for this.”

We settled into bed on our usual sides, just my little lamp on to provide some light, should I need the blindfold off in a hurry. My heart thundered in my ribcage. Breaths came out truncated. I wouldn’t be restrained, I could get the thing off immediately, and she’d seen all of me before—in every sense of the word. She’d seen me be sick, writhe in pain in my sleep, kick the covers in the throes of nightmares, melt into a useless puddle when she pressed ice to my chest, sleepily babble nonsense to her when I woke up at 2 am unable to go back to sleep, walk in circles in the living room for an hour because I couldn’t stop thinking and my legs wouldn’t stop moving; she’d seen everything. But I didn’t even know what I should expect out of myself when I was blindfolded, so could I expect the same loving understanding from her? Thinking back on it now, yeah, I should’ve. But in the moment? In the moment, it scared the fuck out of me.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” she whispered.

I did, and the soft fabric of her scarf laid over my eyes. She tied it behind my head, snug enough not to slip off. It honestly soothed some of the mild headache I didn’t know I had. This weird tightness behind my eyes and in my temples. She slid her hands down to my neck, stroked my jaw with her thumbs. Kissed my forehead.

She placed my hand on her outstretched one, and pretty instantly, I could tell my sense of touch was different. I traced lines in her palm, felt tendons tighten under her skin when I flattened her fingers, found a little scar on the furthest knuckle of her thumb. Raised line, glassy smooth, disappeared when she bent the joint. I’d never noticed that her nailbeds were shorter than mine, that her fingernails had the smallest ridges when I rubbed across them.

“My pulse is here,” she whispered, directing my index and middle finger into a soft valley between two bands of tendon—one tight, thin, fine, like a guitar string, and the other thicker, more substantial, more like a pencil. I picked up a pulse. Fast. Faster than her heart beats when I lay my head on her chest as we doze off.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“No.” She was right about the blindfold being necessary because I wanted nothing more than to see her face, read her eyes. “No, um. It feels really good.”

I trailed my hand up her arm, noticed the little hairs on it that I hadn’t before. Found my way to the strap of her tank top—no bra, good foresight—then to the ridge of her collarbone. Her skin was so soft, still like it was made of fine materials, but because my mouth had done the exploring there before, I knew I couldn’t feel how supple it actually was with my fingers. The best I got was an approximation of soft, and that—it astounds me how fast this happened—abruptly wasn’t enough.

I caged her in my arms and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her collarbone.

“Oh.” She coiled her arms around my shoulders, wove her fingers into my hair. Pressed closer.

Feeling her with my mouth I’d done countless times, but the blindfold. The blindfold did something impossible—it made her skin seem even softer. That velvety, almost cool-to-the-touch texture of a fresh rose petal, one that threatens to disintegrate between your fingers, that you could lay on your tongue and imagine dissolving into sweetness. Forget feeling with my hands, I needed to taste her, every bit of her, to get lost in blooms of flower petals wherever my lips and tongue pressed. I lifted her tank top off and kissed my way down her full breast, dragged my tongue over a hardened nub, and the breathless gasp that caught in her throat, the way her fingernails dug into the back of my shoulder and my scalp—it was the entire universe.

“Carmy—oh fuck—Carmy? Baby?” She whimpered, voice half-strangled.

I managed a hum of acknowledgement.

“Please keep—Oh… That…”

I’d already begun kissing down her stomach while retreating under the covers.

[kaeyachi]

So...I finished the Arlecchino story quest...

Spoilers below!

TW: Mentions of Suicide, Child Experimentation, Child Abuse, and Murder/Death

This is, by far, the best story quest I have ever done!

First of all, CHILDE?! CHILDE ESCAPING HIS PERSONAL AMBULANCE TO SNEZHNAYA JUST TO COME BACK TO FONTAINE TO ASK SKIRK A QUESTION? Bro is so funny, please-

please save him.

Wait, actually, yeah please do save him. Pulcinella and Pantalone are both plotting in the background, and they got Childe involved...

I also loved the children! Look at how terrifying they are! They're my absolute faves!!

Lyney cementing the reason as to why Arlecchino chose him as the next King is wonderful to see as well. For some time, I thought Freminet and Lynette had a shot, even with reading their lore. What I have failed to realize is that Lyney really is the inspiration for all of the people in the House of the Hearth. His frustrated and disappointed spiel about Freminet not trusting him with Clervie struck me to the heart. This is an older brother at work here people!

Also if I had a nickel every time a cryo younger brother hid a dangerous secret from his pyro older brother which got them into an argument once the truth came out, I'd have 2 nickels ✌️ (somehow gave me war flashbacks to a scene that doesn't even exist lmao)

LYNETTE IS THE FUNNIEST SIBLING BTW. SHE'S MY QUEEN FOR THIS.

Clervie! Our dearest! I'm not fully sure what part in her design did it, but she barely looks like an NPC somehow. Like, yes, this is still an NPC base model, but... is it perhaps the hair? And the extra lashes??

Also, her calling Arlecchino "Perrie" made me sob. I wasn't ready to hear nicknames!!

The mention of Snezhnayan auroras also made me sob again as well. You know what? This entire thing made me sob.

Clervie's dread and horror at the thought of her own mother, her unrelenting spirit that kept her going in her fight for her fellow peers freedom despite the abuse that she will receive, and her unfulfilled dreams repeatedly being mentioned throughout this quest was heartbreaking.

I do have to say- the animations they released for Arlecchino helped a lot with the emotions we are supposed to feel for this quest. Not only was that good Advertising and promotion for the Arlecchino banner, it also set up the plot that would have not been well presented ingame had they chose to do that instead.

Crucabena and Clervie part of this quest were not the only ones mentioned in this quest, but also that damn dude that she killed with her heels! I personally like the way they released all those animations because the quest feels more emotional and alive now, and we could follow with the story better than before (and it effectively increased the hype)

Speaking of more alive, the facial expressions have definitely improved! This quest had them utilizing various expressions well, specifically for the playable characters, so, again, this really helped with the feel of the quest.

Additionally, adding a picture to scenes also set the tone really well. It's not that pictures have never been included in quests before, but the way these were framed(?) made it look way better than the ones before.

By the way...is it just me? Or did Paimon's voice somewhat mellow out for this quest? I had recently played some other story and world quests, and Paimon's EN voice is admittedly high-pitched and painful to hear in those, but for this quest, it's as if her voice was toned down (like Mondstadt Paimon, but with current Paimon energy). I'm hoping this was them taking the criticism from past and adjusting their instructions to Paimon's VA accordingly, because I loved Paimon's voice in this quest (that or I'm delulu)

Quick lore tidbits before I go back to gushing about this quest:

1. Arlecchino confirmed not from Fontaine (like I legit thought she may be Khaenri'ahn due to the blood moon thing she has going for her, but it's nice to confirm her non-Fontainian status)

2. Crucabena was the one who had a deal with Dottore on sending members of the HotH to him for experimentation. Anyone who was physically impaired or left alive after a duel to death are automatically sent to him. Clervie has described this as a fate worse than death... Peruere rejected Dottore's partnership offer once she became the next knave. Also, Crucabena used Clervie as an "example" for those who wish to escape, meaning Clervie received the most abuse (which apparently worsened as the years went by). Clervie lost hope sometime along the way and was basically suicidal as well by the time she and Arlecchino had their duel... Her mindset by that time is that the only hope for freedom to her is death. The popular theory of Clervie letting Arlecchino kill her is proven in a horrifying way with this discovery... (yes, she wanted Arlecchino to be the king, but at the same time, she took this situation as a chance to hit 2 birds with 1 stone)

3. Project Stuzha is apparently something highly dangerous, and Pulcinella and Pantalone are trying to get Childe and Arlecchino involved (Childe was told to aide the project by Pulcinella, while Arlecchino says she doesnt want the HotH to be involved in it)

4. Here is me reannouncing that I am in fact taking the L on the Freminet and Crucabena situation. Basically, the timeline is that at age 16, Clervie dies, and we are left with a 1 year time period for a 6 year old Freminet to enter under Crucabena (I'm guessing this is either a retcon or a means to hide the Arlecchino plot by not having them directly say mother in Freminet's character story 4). After that said 1 year, Peruere kills Crucabena and has spent several months in Snezhnaya before reviving the House of the Hearth and adopting Lyney and Lynette (perhaps the children of Crucabena's HotH simply stuck together during that time)

Basically, yes, Arlecchino is in her mid-20s. Not my personal cup of tea, but hey, genshin ages are confusing most days (Ayato is older than her, and Ayaka may actually be older than her as well... ugh I need a moment please... I MAY BE THE SAME AGE AS HER. NO-)

5. Freminet used to also call Lyney "brother". What changed that, I'm not sure (and if I had a nickel...), but the thought of baby Freminet following around big bro Lyney and big sis Lynette makes my heart melt. Freminet actually cried after Lyney basically told him how important Fremi is to him, so whoever made Freminet think otherwise... 😡 they better square up because we ride at dawn

ok back to me gushing

THE BOSS FIGHT? IT WAS SO COOL! It was beautifully animated, and the fact that they added this at the end?

The fear on the traveler's eyes upon realization of what true power Arlecchino held was amazing imo. We canonically cannot defeat Arlecchino in her boss fight! She will be a weekly boss that we can defeat, but in actuality, we really cannot beat the number 4 of the Fatui Harbringers.

We now have actual proof that harbringers 1-4 are not within our capabilities to challenge, and to add to that horror, this is us fighting Arlecchino with Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. This is also actual proof that we, the traveler, cannot defeat a ton of other characters as well! (were cooked if we never get a power boost and plot armor✌️)

Also let me sneak in this picture:

Cunty as fck. Powerpuff girls energy. They're the Heathers, and we, the traveler, are Veronica.

And finally, the last part of my commentary that cemented this quest as my top 1:

Everything Arlecchino has done for the House of the Hearth, it was all thanks to Clervie and her dreams.

Arlecchino has shaped the HotH into a more honest relationship between her as the father and them as her children. Everything Clervie hated about the old HotH is now nonexistent in this version.

The children could be set free.

Duels are not to death.

They will not be sent to their doom if they lose.

This is everything that Clervie dreamed of, and this is everything Clervie tragically never got to see and experience because she lost all hope.

Clervie's story ended in tragedy, but Peruere lived and breathed Clervie's dreams for her anyway. Seeing the aurora was the start of Peruere finding the goal of living Clervie's dream, and now, Arlecchino strives to do her best to see those dreams come to fruition.

And the qualities that Peruere admired in Clervie are the same qualities that made her want Lyney to become the next king. Hopeful, caring, protective, passionate, and full of conviction. Lyney will take the mantle and live and breathe for Clervie's and Peruere's dreams someday.

Honestly, I have more to say, but I think this is a good place to stop for now. The dynamics of all these characters have made this experience worthwhile, and I hope that genshin continues with this sort of style in the future. Here's to more amazing stories from genshin!

Bonus screenshot while we are still here:

[the-chessboard-is-personal]

ii s3 liveblog

I'm a bit sad rn so sorry if my reactions are bad this time

1 - I'm not supposed to relate to Balloon am I. y'know. the guy that did something bad in the recent past and now everyone hates them even though they're trying to change.. sigh. wHAT? h. how is he here?? HOW IS SHE HERE??? ...does MePhone look different from how he was in the first half of s2? it's been a bit since I watched that but I swear there's something different about him. oh, new intrthe island is alive. warp pipe.

2 - yup sure :) 👍 right okay BOW is glitching now. something to do with chairs and maybe she lost her memories? she was obsessed with chairs before she died, so..oh fuck I'm taking as many notes as Cabby huh

3 - oh I thought I had something to say about this one. sorry

4 - if the floor gets eliminated, how will that work? .yo WHAT is going on with candleMUMBO JUMBO CATCHPHRASE ... I. I don't think that's what polishing a screen does.?

5 - what if Box wins lol ..oh. wait there was no formal elimination, I guess that got replaced with Box being pulled this episode

6 - them ,,,,,they,both of them,, the cool(s) -> ☯

7 - well call me a camera because [screenshots the auras file]. . . . . . . . . . a. ..nobody knows about this joke yet but if I had a- uh. nickel. for every time a series I know about had a character named Bow with trigger words, I would have two nickels. which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice what is going on with Bow and chairs. HEY MARSHMALLOW TOO?? yes I will keep doing this strikethrough bit

8 - oh fuck I just realized. "iii" as in Inanimate Insanity Invitational but also as in 3 (roman numeral) because it's season 3. also just based on the title I have a bad feeling about this episode (<-half-right??) wait WHAT. MePhone what the fuck does that rnean. whhaaAAAA- oh. agdjhk s ghdclod damn it the commercial is pLOT RELEVANT. hhhhey quick question. how uh. how do we know that everyone's back in the right body..? like. there were some characters who weren't onscreen after they all died again. uhh

9 - th. this episode is probably not like. actually worse than the other ones or anything. but, with the bias I had already formed because I distrust people with the name of the one this episode is a collab with, some stress I was already feeling today before even starting this liveblog, something Balloon said at around 9:14, said pre-liveblog stress making me associate the whole "animation machine" thing (which is seen as bad) with something I like but everyone else hates, I personally have nothing good to say about it.

10 - why is Cabby gold. oh it's whoever has the Immunity Cookie. wait did Cabby forget about TBD because her file was burned??

11 - bat? pokemon. the game you're thinking of is pokemon. wait did he say backstab HOW DOES HE KNOW CANDLE SAW BETRAYAL?? ..yeah I was wondering how that would work

12 - I knew it. I knew Cabby would forget stuff that isn't in a file! urghhh can they Please vote out silver spoon already. he's not gonna WIN, right?? sorry. but I don't like him.

13 - oh the intro reflected Bot's change in appearance. neat! nononoononoNONOONNO GAUhokay. listen I know it's probably not going to happen but I really want YinYang to win. and holy shit that "for the rest of your life" was foreshadowing.

14 - okay off to a start that makes me want to punch something. okay. okay. it's not a real ad. good. HUH HE GLITCHED holy shit, damn uzumaki lookin rooms what is this /positive(?) ☯ 👈 GRIAN INSTINCT (which. to be fair, mood). p u r p l e . PURPLE ACKNOWLEDGED. WHAT WAS THAT! ohhh what the hell. you fuck off this INSTANT you silver shitface. ohh I hate him. I hate him more than I hate Cobs. ..does Cabby not have parents? SPLRINGY IS FAKE. SPRINGY IS A ROBOT OR SOMETHING MADE BY COBS I'M CALLING IT NOW. please please please kill the spoon kill the spoon plEASE- ARRGHHH

15 - seeing as the next episode has Blueberry in the thumbnail and is called The Great Bluish Bake Off, I have a slight prediction on who will win the rejoin. wait what. yeah I'm gonna be honest I don't think it was murder. NO NONONOONO DON'T NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WAUGHHH,,,,,

16 - why....why am I finding Nickel so relatable. w h a t . now I've never had oatmeal raisin cookies, but I don't think they're the Number One Cause of global warming. I know it's a cartoon and awHAT THE HELL HE JUST DIED

(between 16 and 17) m. MePhone knows. MePhone knows what's going to happen when the season ends, doesn't he? that's why he doesn't want it to. that's why he's desperate. but the question remains, what does he know that the viewers don't?

17 - wait this episode is from 10 months ago. is- is the series not over? damn it! I prefer to binge watch stuff so I don't forget while waiting for new episodes. oh don't even fucking go there. 14:01 FUCK OFF.

(between 17 and 18) y'know I was trying to watch this to ESCAPE all the drama and discourse everyone hates me for. this just feels personal at this point. but hey, who cares about me, right? onto the next damn episode!

18 - there's another 4 under that 4. are they all 4s. ohhh noooo, what an inteeense moooooment. wow it's really fucking difficult to care right now.

19 - again final episode so I'll break this into sections. kinda

..,.Cabby..I think I understand a bit more about my own..situation because of Cabby. wait wait. "built" to? BUILT to?? HMMMMMM 4S is still here?? what ??? ? well at least the one that YinYang wanted to win won..!

and that's season 3 huh.

well. that was kinda filler? tbh?

and the message in episode 17 sucked- ..eh. hold on. I'm getting too angry over some discourse. I need a break from typing this.

okay after like half an hour I realized something. they were trying to win an award. I like AI art, but I don't think it should ever win any awards in competition with human art. the two are fundamentally different. I don't think there should be any competitions that have both, especially high prestige ones. that line at 14:0whatever was too far though.

my opinion is that human art and AI art are both art. but they're VERY different forms of art, and should probably be kept that way.

overall I liked the season. sure, YinYang didn't win and episodes 9 and 17 are...like that. but it's not that bad tbh.

probably gonna watch the rest of s2 tomorrow, but for now I just want to play minecraft.

[practicedvmm13fullofpotatoes]

Leftenmost Window bits that drive me to insanity

(LONG POST. AGAIN. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

Sam went into the story and thought "You know what? Female character time"

"Cry. Cry, cry, cry" AJ, I LOVE YOU BUT YOU SOUND SO SILLY I HATE IT /aff

AJ using myself twice in the same sentence bugs me for some reason help

"But my Egburt isn't a killer" and AJ immediately says a hypothetical that completely ignores what Sam said

"Would you rather be a gardener who has to go to war or a warrior who has to learn how to plant a garden?" SIR WHY ARE YOU ASKING YOUR DAUGHTER THAT? SHE AIN'T GOING TO WAR, SIR, DON'T WORRY

"I think the second one's probably safer 😃👍" YEAH, PROBABLY

"Are you saying that my Egburt is the gardener who's gone to war?" "No, no--" If I had a nickel for every time AJ completely ignores what Sam said just to say a sentence that makes no fucking sense, I'd have 2 nickels. Honestly, it's odd how I only remember it happening twice

"Don't be too hard on father! He gets his words mixed up" Luke came in to save AJ but then screwed him over again on accident with "after that injury in the Boer War in South Africa"

SALLY AND EGBURT'S WIFE JUST BARKING AT EACHOTHER AND THE "ORDERRRR" FROM THEIR FATHER

"Thank you, sister" GIVE HER A NAME GODDAMN IT PLEASE THEY NEVER GAVE HER A NAME I'M SOBBING SO SO HARD

"He promised me he would" MA'AM? MA'AM. THAT'S A BIT SUSPICIOUS, MADAM

"Yeees, it's the- that time" TRYING TO GET THESE TWO TO SEPERATE SO IT DOESN'T ESCALATE BACK INTO ANOTHER FIGHT

"Uhoaohh"

"There's only one trench you should be in" Sam. Please. No premarital sex. Wait until you two are married/wait until Egburt comes back alive

THE FIRST TIME WE HEAR EGBURT IT'S AJ TALKING??

Sam mentioning his mother and then her just appearing "Aah! Oh the migraines!"

AND THEN LUKE CHIMES IN AND CALLS AJ EGBURT?? HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EGBURT BUT NOOOO, WE NEED MORE SAM AND LUKE CHARACTERS WHO ARE CANONICALLY TOGETHER

"Thewomeninourfamilyhavealwayshadagift.." "O..kay?" SAM IS SO CONFUSED BY THIS SHE PROBABLY THINK HER MOTHER'S INSANE (SHE KIND OF IS THOUGH???)

TOM JUST GOING INTO THE AUDIENCE AND CROSSING THE SEA OF PEOPLE OR IN THE PLAY'S CONTEXT THEY'RE CROSSING A SEA OF SPIRITS THAT FIND THE MORTALS' SHENANIGANS TO BE HILARIOUS

"HEY, I'M NOT DONE! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M IN THE ASTRAL PLANE RIGHT NOW! D:<" IMPLIES THAT YOU CAN GET STUCK IF THE SPIRITS DON'T MOVE ASIDE??

"But- wait" SHE WANTS TO GO BACK?? THIS HAPPENS TWICE, BY THE WAY?? HONESTLY YEAH THIS IS PROBABLY WHY SHE'S ILL

EGBURT AND AJ'S CHARACTER LOOKING AT TOM'S CHARACTER AS IF HE DIDN'T GET SHOT IN THE THROAT PREVIOUSLY

"Neither did I" YEAH BECAUSE HE ISN'T A SCOT??

"What are you knitting over there?" "Scarf :)" "For you, Captain Egburt" SAM LEGIT JUST MADE LUKE EGBURT. HE WAS NOT EGBURT. HE WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE EGBURT

"Aye. That was me" NO BUT REALLY. YOU JUST SAVED A GUY WHO GOT SHOT IN THE THROAT AND SOMEHOW IMMEDIATELY FORGOT ABOUT IT?

Odd how Egburt didn't get shot when he stood up but Tom's character did. Same for AJ's character

DID SAM'S CHARACTER MOAN WHEN HE GOT HIT? I'M SOBBING SO HARD WHAT??

"How old are you?" HE'S YOUNG. THAT'S ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW 👍

"Medical Arena" WHY IS THEIR MEDICAL AREA AN ARENA? TO MAKE SURE THEIR PATIENTS END UP TRAINING SO THAT WHEN THEY RECOVER THEY'LL COME BACK BETTER THAN EVER? HUH???

Tom just going "😃!" when he and Sam said Egburt at the same time (Tom has the best expressions I swear) and then immEDIATELY TRYING AGAIN TO SEE IF THEY SAY IT IN SYNC

"It's me" "And her mother/And my mum" YOU MEAN BOTH OF THEM CAN JUST COMMUNICATE TO THE SAME PERSON? IS SHE GUIDING HER DAUGHTER?? PROBABLY, YEAH??

TOM NOT IMMEDIATELY CATCHING UP TO WHAT SAM WANTS TO SAY

"Lie down in the--" "NO, GET BACK" but aren't you two ALREADY in the astral plane? Is there an astral astral plane??

"The women in my family have the power to project their consciousnesses across space and time.. Well just space, I've not checked out time" Nah, sis, don't worry, your great great grandson has 👍

"I said I'll come back don't worry and then I kissed her on her forehead" LUKE WAS GOING FOR THE DIVORCE PLOT

"You're a gardener, not a warrior, a gardener!" Ah yes, referencing your father's nonsensical metaphor. At least she understood that part

"You took HER to OUR garden?" LUKE REALLY GOING FOR THE DIVORCE PLOT HERE PLEASE GUYS YOU AND YOUR FIANCÉ AREN'T MARRIED YET COME ON

Hans and Heimlich are such a duo I love them so much. "No no, I don't want to speak to you >:(" Why does it seem like there's more to this than just Hans not letting him drive. Why is there some romantic tension here and the other Hans is just the third wheel

"Just double-checking for the scene.." Hans and Hans' reactions are understandable. What scene are you talking about, Heimlich?

Tom's German soldier not knowing his team. Sir, you have trained with them. What do you mean you don't know that one of them listens to American music?

why did you call your father darling after he called you darling?

"She told you about that?" GIRL THAT'S HER HUSBAND, OF COURSE HE WOULD KNOW

SALLY BEING NERVOUS AND A BIT GUILTY. LUKE WAS REALLY GOING FOR THE DIVORCE PLOT UNTIL TOM CAME IN

"I have a closer relationship with father, he tells me more!" You mean your MOTHER? SHE'S the one who has the powers because the WOMEN of the family have the psychic powers.

Luke did a complete U-turn from the divorce plot. AJ then took the wheel and turned the car back to the divorce plot. Thank God we have Tom to save the plot from being darker than it already is

"The Xavier house" THEY'RE THE XAVIERS??? YEAH I WISH I HAD KNOWN/REMEMBERED WHEN I MADE THE NUTB HEADCANONS

"And now I return it to my mind because it's- it's good" MADAM? MADAM THAT'S A BIT 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂, MADAM

TL;DR: Sally is the only Xavier to have a first name mentioned in the play & Mrs. Xavier is a 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴

[lotto840]

HIGH INANIMATE INSANITY S2 E16 SPOILERS

Please don’t read this if you haven’t caught up yet I’m begging you.

With both of those out of the way here’s a tier list based on how likely I think the cast’s chances of dying next ep are. Explanations below!

Red:

Cobs is pretty obvious, Mephone and/or the finalists up and kill him.

3GS just has a lot of death flags to die to Cobs or X. It just doesn’t look like anything will end well for them :(

4 and Taco have been predicted to die for a while, what can I say? It’d be a way to raise the stakes for sure.

On that note I just feel like LB is gonna be both a gut punch to fans and a way of giving Baseball and the other three main Bright Lights more drama.

And the finalists just seem like one or both of them will die in the climax, but if it is just one, I’m not sure if it’d be first or second place…

Now for Orange Juice, which I think needs more explanation:

Baseball is similar to Lightbulb, but just to give Knife and SC more stress, and the lowest moment take away the closest the other contestants have as a leader, but it just seems less likely than the others.

Same w/ Mepad, good way of giving 4 and Taco more angst but he might have more direct plot instead.

The other three Bright Lights left the Hotel and are directly looking for answers, if LB doesn’t die, then at least one of them will.

Mic and Ballon are for Taco/Knife and Suitcase respectively, bc these are just two characters the writers kinda like tormenting.

Candle and Silver are the only III contestants so high bc the Inner Flame, gotta get rid of the OP chars first ofc.

A Box death would be hilarious and get played straight by everyone except Trophy. That or they use the inanimate status to reveal he’s a god and the only one 4 didn’t make bc why not.

And Pepper is just here bc the old s1 plans.

Yellow… I can’t find a color option for this one chat 💀 (get purple instead ig):

First three are all s2 contestants, which means they’ll prob have more screen time, Soap’s first bc she seems like she’ll be given more than the others. Don’t ask why Cheesy is behind Salt and Bomb it was an oversight

Salt and Bomb are potential victims but it would probably go to someone the audience is more attracted to.

It could go that the III contestants get mass axed by X to keep it to s2 but it could also go the other way and have deaths focused on 1 and 2.

Green:

Hahaha no way the 2nd fav (only to Lightbulb to give a sense of scale) is dying.

Same w/ Bot the crew loves them too much to do that, they’ll prob just react to Nickel + any other deaths next pt.

I’m gonna be honest, when I made this I could’ve sworn it was confirmed that Cherries was 12 but now I can’t find it… that was kinda the whole reason why I put them here…💀

The shimmers and Baxter aren’t dying. That’s that.

Marsh and Apple are out of sight, out of mind. And if the souls do go to PM, it wouldn’t be as bad for them.

Starfruit also isn’t dying, he’s just here for the fan service.

Paper is prob going to get a role where he tries to learn to work w/o his husband OJ. They aren’t offing him unless they do an entire cast massacre for the climax.

[moestavern]

The HOMOE Masterpost

Shoutout to @butchbarneygumble for oking me to steal this idea from their Moeney Masterpost! Go peep that btw.

I see almost no one acknowledge all the gay shit these two have going on so i have to ship them all by myself and honestly that's unacceptable given how much this show implies between them. And with a ship name like Homoe? You have got to be kidding me they were handed to me on a golden fucking plater.

Blah blah i know these are jokes or w/e but its a show, no one here is real, you are not affected by me wanting these middle aged men to kiss each other (more than they already do) so lets get on with it!

This is currently only clips from the show, i will go through the comics/books/etc. if anything's hidden in there and ill add it to this post in the future.

This is gonna be a long post so everything is gonna be under the cut.

Episode: (S2E11) One Fish, Two Fish, Blow Fish, Blue Fish

Homer Kisses Moe. Moe responds with "not in public". So in private then?

H: Oh words wont do it- I love you Moe M: Not in public

---

Episode: (S8E3) The Homer they Fall

Just this whole episode.

H: Are you an angel? M: Yes Homer, Im an angel. All us angles wear Farah slacks. H: But you stopped the fight. Wont everyone be mad at you? M: Eh, lettem be mad. The only thing that matters to me is your'e safe. - D: Homer, your manager obviously loves you very much.

---

Episode: (S9E16) Dumbbell Indemnity

Dancing together + hints throughout. "if you squint" kinda stuff but ill take my breadcrumbs.

---

Episode: (S11E6) Hello Gutter Hello Fadder

Homer and Moe consider one another life partners.

Ma: Well, the one sure cure for the blues is to talk it over with your life partner. H: You're right! - H: I cant believe it Moe. The greatest feet of my life is already forgotten. M: Geez, Homer. I never seen ya this depressed. As your life partner, Im very worried.

---

Episode: (S11E10) Little Big Mom

When Lisa calls the tavern, Moe asks if Homer is going to another bar like its a cheating situation. Look at me however you want that's how im taking this. Moe's clingy.

M: Hey uh- is Homer there? L: No, he isn't. I dont know where he is. M: Im a little worried. He usually stops in for an eye opener on the way to work. L: He told us he'd been going to the gym. M: Uhahaha- Wow. Anyway, you dont think he could be at another bar do ya? Because i couldnt take that- i- i just couldnt. *crying*

---

Episode: (S11E16) Pygmoelian

Homer tells Moe his acting is a turn on.

M: The one hole ive never been able to fix is the one in my soul. H: That was amazing Moe. Im actually a little turned on. M: Yeah, hey i gotta gift.

---

Episode: (S16E7) Mommie Beerest

The thing i dont say is that i primarily ship all three of them together especially during late seasons. Reading "Moe takes the place of marge" jokes as shippy is- a bit of a stretch? whatever, it includes Moe telling Homer "i love you" and Homer calling Moe "Honey".

H: What would Marge say? M: Do whatever you have to do to save Moe's. I love my Homie. H: Ok honey, ill do it! Ma: What's going on here? M: Nothin- Nothing.

Also Homer and Moe sharing a bed 1/2.

---

Episode: (S17E5) Marge's Son Poisoning

If i had a nickel for every time Moe and Homer were called life partners id have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot but its weird that it happened twice. (This has to be a lie, im certain there is a third time this has happened, i have yet to find it again) "They're lying, they're trying to hustle" um stfu- idc that's his life partner. he said so.

RT: God dern it son- what tha hell kinna sissy are you? M: Hey are you calling my life partner a sissy? Cause a hundred bucks says he could whoop you in arm wrestling.

---

Episode: (S18E6: Moe n' a Lisa)

Moe tells Homer he loves him.

H: Seriously Moe, I think you have a gift. M: Thanks Homer, I love you man. H: OoooOH you love a man.

---

Episode: (S20E8) The Burns and The Bees

Moe explains bees having sex to Homer and Homer thinks Moe is talking about the two of them.

H: But how are we supposed to combine the DNA of two strains of the same species? M: Actually Homer *whispering* H: *gasp* You and me? M: No. The bees. H: Oh! Yeah yeah. That's what i meant too. I... have no... inclination...

---

Episode: (S21E30 The Great Wife Hope)

Moe takes Homer dressed as Marge to his class reunion. He says he took Barney the year before.

M: Lets go Marge. My class reunion starts in an hour. H: Uh, Moe, i have a confession to make. Im just Homer dressed as Marge. M: Yeah, but last year i took Barney dressed as Marge. Think how much better they'll think you look. Hmm? H: Well you better not leave me and talk to your old friends all night. M: Keep talkin like that and ill leave ya here right now.

---

Episode: (S21E21) Moe Letter Blues

Homer kisses Moe.

H: Moe, i dont know rather to punch you or kiss you. So im gonna do both.

---

Episode: (S24E2) Treehouse of Horror XXIV

Look, i know its a demon that looks like Moe and NOT Moe. But cmon what was this???

H: Listen, pal, you seem like an honest guy. Is there any other deal you can accept? D: Three way. H: Hm- You, me, Marge? D: Demon, demon, you. H: Sigh- I guess its one of those things a dad has to do. - H: Now before we start, what's the safe word? D: Cinnamon H: Oh! I like that. Now, id like to try something new, if you dont mind. D: Cinnamon. Cinnamon! Cinnamon! Cinnamon!

---

Episode: (S25E12) Diggs

Ok- so the way Bart describes his feeling for Diggs is really queer and Homer immediately compares that to his feelings towards Moe.

B: I met this kid. Little older. Kinda strange. I dont think other people get him but i just wanna hang out with him all the time. H: *gasps* Its even better than i thought. You found your Moe Szyslak!

---

Episode: (S27E10) The Girl Code

Homer kisses Moe.

M: Hey what tha hell? Get your kisser off my head puss! H: What? Its how greek men say 'hello'. Non sexual guy kissing is the best.

---

Episode: (S28E4) Treehouse of Horror XXVII

Moe kisses a picture of Homer twice.

Thanks @leibi97 for remembering this one for me!

--- Episode: (S28E13) Fatzcarraldo

Homer calls Moe his "sweet wonderful bartender"

H: i had a great day and i really wanna celebrate with the boys so dont wait up for me my sweet wonderful bartender, Moe. M: Alright but whos the boys? H: Marge's boobs. See ya!

---

Episode: (S29E16) King Leer

Homer carrying Moe into the store. But also i like this episode over all from a Homoearge standpoint.

M: When i cross this threshold i begin a new life! *Picked up by Homer* This is the first time that ive ever been carried into a store. Look at me now lady foot locker! Look at me now.

---

Episode: (S32E15) Do Pizza Robots Dream of Electric Guitars

Ok guys THIS is what im talking about when i say in later seasons i kinda ship all three of them.

Ma: Did you see how he ate his breakfast? He doesn't shuffle his pancakes like a deck of cards. He doesn't air drum while driving, or race the dog in butt scooting across the carpet. And he always won. He's not my Homie anymore. B: We didnt notice any of that. Ma: A wife knows. M: And a bartender. Hes just- hes just not the same. He dont spin Barney around on the stool no more. He dont drink beer from a crazy straw just a sensible straw. What are we gonna do about our little man Midge? Ma: Were just gonna have to love him that much more. M: I didnt think that was possible. - B: Im used to seeing mom upset about dad, but Moe. That really shook me.

---

Episode: (S35E7) Its A Blunderful Life

They love each other :)

M: How dare you show your face in here. H: Moe, its me, and beneith all the drinking and the jokes we have a real relationship. And that means something. M: What are you gettin at? H: C'mon man. Deep down, we kinda love each other. H: *thrown through window* M: Love you too

---

Episode: (S35E15) Cremains of the Day

Moe and Homer share a bed 2/2.

M: Oh cmon Lenny, ghosts aint real. eh

Holding each other.

---

Episode: (S35E17) The Tipping Point

Dont- Even- Get- Me- Started

M: Exact change huh? Thats it? H: Aw, i really wanna tip ya Moe, but i promised my wife id quit. M: Heres a thought Homer. What if you took the moolah outta your pocket but you just stopped before anything happened? Ya know, everything but the tip. H: That dosent seem like it could lead to anything. M: Sure it couldnt. H: *slowly hands Moe ten dollars* H: We shouldnta done that. M: Does that mean- that you wanna stop? H: No *hands Moe more money* *moaning* It feels so good *hands Moe more money* M: Dont stop you generous man *handed more money* *moaning* Aw yeah give it to me big boy H: *handing Moe more money* You like that? M: Oh thats the spot H: I can do this all night M: Right there H: Tell me you want it M: Oh god- Oh god- Oh god- Oh god! H: Yes- Yes- Yes- Yes! *Wallet sprays money on Moe* C: I need a new bar. - M: *following Homer out of the bar* Where ya goin? H: I cant stop tippin Moe. Im hooked on tha rush! I gotta monkey on my back and hes got his hand out. M: But, what about us? H: No one service worker can satisfy my needs. God help me im a tip-phomaniac.

---

Jesus ok i dont know how to conclude this post. I will make updates to this. I know im missing stuff.

This is about a 3rd of my "moe is bi" list so maybe ill make that its own masterpost.

Someone asked me today what ship dynamic they are and i told them "the dumb one/the evil one/the woman". My spouse and i have been watching Futurama and they pointed out to me it was the same dynamic when i said i saw something between Fry/Bender/Leela as a trio.

[ai-the-broccoli]

if I had a nickel every time an episode in Ace Attorney involves a murder orchestrated by a pair of partners-in-crime where:

the one who wanted the victim dead and who's calling the shots is the yang-esque partner, an orange/red-coloured and explicitly cat-coded villain antagonist man with a misleadingly nice title/nickname/slogan ("tender"; "refreshing" etc) that doesn't suit his real nature + a bright conspicuous motorbike that is currently out of use, whose main thing is acting i.e. playing different characters & roles, and is able to fool many around him with his act, who is the primary antagonist or "real" bad guy in the episode narratively and,

the one who was enlisted by the cat-coded biker to help with the murder is the yin-esque partner, a black/white-coloured character with an ostentatious visible sign of past injury on their head and an eerie aura designated to invoke fear & creepiness from the moment they appear on screen, who consistently makes it sound as if they might kill you or someone else any second when they speak, but is ultimately treated as less antagonistic/more sympathetic than cat biker by the narrative.

and

cat biker stars as the leading role of their murderous two-man act, while the scary accomplice plays a supporting role in the background costumed in the uniform of the service job (e.g. maid, butler, waitress, bellboy) they're disguising themselves in.

despite serving the cat biker, scary accomplice is actually far more powerful in reality and both of them know it. scary accomplice's last name is infamously powerful in the criminal underworld and strikes terror into people's hearts; when brought up to the law enforcement for the first time, the player is told that other outlaws fear them and the police can't reach them.

cat biker acts tough and intimidating with the rogue face he puts on but he's actually a coward absolutely terrified of scary accomplice's actual power, because he knows the only reason they hasn't got him dead yet is that he is still on the accomplice's good side and they trust him.

and

the duo carries out the murder according to cat biker's wish but they're unsatisfied without making sure biker never gets convicted, so they decide to take a step further and mess with the lawyering as well. so they target phoenix wright personally, which eventually becomes their undoing because it just pushes him to find out the truth even more.

moreover, phoenix hates betrayal personally, and during his search he finds out that cat biker has been deceiving scary accomplice all along, despite scary accomplice's strong devotion to and forceful dedication to trusting cat biker. cat biker also even expresses his contempt toward them for this foolish trust behind them

phoenix breaks the truth about this betrayal to scary accomplice but couldn't get through until he provides evidence with the correct explanation, because accomplice has wanted to trust cat biker. after phoenix gets the truth through, scary accomplice completely turns against cat biker and wants him punished, which eventually helps phoenix gets him convicted and jailed with the help of unconventional methods

...I would have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but,

did you know that AA2: Justice for All was originally going to have 5 episodes, and Recipe for Turnabout was supposed to be 2-4 while Farewell, My Turnabout was originally meant to be 2-5, before they ran out of space and switched Recipe for Turnabout out for AA3 instead?

which means if it went as planned, Recipe for Turnabout would've been right before Farewell, My Turnabout. I wonder if that means this parallel could actually have been not completely unintentional?

anyway it's hilarious to me to think that Farewell, My Turnabout (the Engarde & De Killer case) would've been exactly one case after Recipe for Turnabout (the Tigre & Viola case) and exactly one case before the Dahlia & Phoenix case (Dahlia is a villain tied to the theme of deceit + comparable to Matt, while Phoenix is all about trust and trusting your clients + foils Shelly). fellas is it gay to strongly parallel not one, but multiple doomed godawful dysfunctional canonical m/f romances thematically

[nonexistant00tmblr]

𝘔𝘠 II2 17 FRAME-BY-FRAME ANALYSIS

//spoilers for the ii2 17 trailer ofc

1/2

So you see.../quote

The trailer starts off with this scene;

This leaves a not-so-good taste in my mouth to what Steve might be doing with the finalist. Here me out on this...

Fight to the death.

I KNOW I KNOW IT'S BADDD... but... With the fact that Mephone can bring contestants back, what's stopping Cobs from using similar tech to do the same? I'll come back to this later.

The screen then pans to Mephone, here;

From what I can tell, this seems to be another flashback or past memory of Mephone's. I believe this because of not only his (leaning towards) youthful demeanor, but more importantly, - the background.

(Hey! The next sections are going to suck, bc I'm rewriting them. I wrote them, and they didn't save. 💔)

This if from s2e13, from one of Mephone's memories. Recognize the glass? Mephone is definitely in mepple. I think that (in the ii2 17 ss) mephone is either

Completing a task for Cobs

OORR making the contestants(to a capacity.)

Mephone seems to be looking at something for imperfections, using his hands to border whatever he may be looking at from his POV, and smiling at his work. He had a similar reaction when he made the model boat (and went to show it to Steve), but he 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 had happy reactions is scenes when he was taking his own sort of control in his life in mepple(such as when he was watching TV.), so, I'm not going to rule out either, but I'd love to know what others think on that!

I'm not here to rewrite anymore than I need to, so feel free to go and look at my ii2 17 snippet analysis for this ss HERE! I Stan true to everything 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 the amount of Metags lawl.

Going back to the actual meat and potatoes of this, the screen resumes to Hotel OJ;

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴. To Mephone!

From what I can say, he seems to be - though not too kindly - , giving his rebuttal to what Steve has just told the finalists. He has a right to be as mad as he is, due to how 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 he's been trying to get just 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗲. That's all he wants! Or at least that's when he thinks. He thinks that with all the precautions he's put, just wanting one good finale for he little show is not too much time ask for, but with the fact that all he's doing is 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘊𝘰𝘣𝘴, he's denying a happy ending to not only himself, but every single one of his contestants. He deserves a good yell at Steve, though. I really want to see that.

Still at the Hotel (but out of the closet now(lol)), things pan to Lightbulb.

From her confident stance, it seems that she's taking a place of leadership. (Would have been nice if she took that before OJ died but,,) as much as I want to bully her (sorry), lightbulb taking this role suggests a few things. Not only does it mean that Lightbulb has started taking things seriously, putting her full attention into being that leader in this situation, but also realizing that this is not the time to just 'try and make people happy again'. Another blank this strikes, is 𝘸𝘩𝘺? Did something happen to Baseball? He seemed to have taken that leadership role as of the end of act 1, but Lightbulb seems to be doing that job for him now. Did Baseball tell her about Nickel? Did Baseball tell 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘭? Also would love to say, NEWBIE SCREEN TIME! HI CANDLEEE💜💜💜.

Going back to things I reallllyy don't wanna rewrite, this is one. This was in the snippet, and I'm p sure I already yapped about that back HERE. 🤩🙏💯

And here's the reason I had to rewrite so much. I had to get the ss below. ↓

Yay!! More newbies!! And Yay!! More Taco and her past abusive relationships!! Can't 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 to cover this. Seeing Baseball in the back as he is, makes me think a bit. Of course from a standpoint of the show production, having the

Ahem

"Largest" character in the front, wouldn't be the best idea, but I feel that him being in the back has a deeper reason.

You know how I mentioned Lightbulb taking control? This proves that further. Baseball blends in with the other onlookers, even ones like Cabby, who's in front of him might I add.

Not to Taco. She seems to be looking away, for the obvious reason. Mic. She was able to work up the confidence to talk to Pickle again, but Mic? That's a 𝘸𝘢𝘺 fresher wound for her. Not to mention, the last time she tried to fix a broken friendship that day, he

Uh

Died.

So, it's not like Taco wants to throw herself back into another potty party with a sob story when everyone around her is freaking out.

Looking at Microphone, she has a somber look on her face. One of almost,, remorse? Mic has a reason to miss Taco, that was her first friend almost ever. A look of longing on her face shows that better than I can describe. I think (after hearing about Pickle), Mic night have started thinking about how Taco might have experienced that, and started feeling just that little twinge of regret. Not much, but enough.

It's hard to see from the screenshot I took, but, Mepad is on the verrrry edge on the shot. Another gathering of contestants stand to the other side of him, suggesting that Mean is the main onlooker to something or someone in front of him. This may very well be 𝘔𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦. I'll come back to this.

We then see the purgatory crew! Yay!! Marshmallow is holding a remote, I will 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 come back to this!!

Moving on, I'm skipping the next frame, as it connects to another one! *

(*i will put another asterisk later)

Continuing the Hotal OJ talk, we see what the others are up too!!!

Last resort protection circle in case anyone dies.

Wow! How nice!!

Lightbulb is still taking her place of leadership, Baseball in tow. mephone seems to be entering the circle they've created for (what I think is) one of two reasons, one MUCH MORE selfish than the other.

To join in the circle watching out.

To go IN the circle.

(Spoiler alert; he's in the circle 😭)

I mean,,,, Mephone kinndaaaa is egotistical, nothing is stopping him from asking the contestants to circle him out of fear...

Also, little thing, OH MY GOD. ALL OF THESE CLIPS ARE SO OUT OF ORDER??? Next post I will be putting them in what I believe is chronological order cuz AE what is this buffoonery bro. I keep saying "I'll come back to this" and that's why. 😭

Back to the screen shot- one thing that I just need to point out whether I like it or not, is the fact that these are the 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 contestants. Anyone who isn't present in the circle is most likely at the library, or dead. This includes the speculations on Soap. Also,

GOO!?!?

WHERE'S GOO.

I'M GOING TO CRY.

ahem

I'm going to break this into 2 parts because of the image limit. I'll tag that HERE when it's done!

[cetacian]

The Fall and Rise of Orca: Orca Joins a Furry Gang Part 2

Warning: This post contains spoilers for Batman & Robin Vol 3 Issue #5 "School Daze."

Note: I missed a bit of info in Issue #4 that Damian suspected his school principal to be Shush, formerly Mistress Harsh, one of the trainers for him when he was being raised by his mother with the League of Assassins.

And now, back to our story already in progress:

Batman and Damian caught up with Orca, hoping to gain more information regarding Man-Bat's plans, though she was anything but cooperative, fearing Man-Bat's wrath should she give anything away:

Okay, so apparently Orca being able to breathe and speak underwater is still a thing. I'll chalk it up to a parting gift from the late Lord Chondrakha/Kamo for helping out his son over in the King Shark miniseries until and unless another explanation is given. Her leaping and smashing abilities however are much more in line with what we've seen before.

Interestingly, this the first time Batman has used a variation on the famous "Let Me Help You!" line on Orca. Which I thought would've happened much sooner in either the New Earth or Rebirth continuities, but still. XD I personally think a fight between Orca and Man-Bat would be much more evenly matched than she realizes, though it would depend on the given terrain and other circumstances.

The fight ended shortly due to Daman's quick thinking and Orca was left to be arrested:

I know last time she got fried by sound waves, but insert your "two nickels, weird that it happened twice" meme here. Also, thank you, Batman, for saying that about Orca being better than this, because it sure seems like the writer didn't. Ugh, more self pitying backsliding. I get so tired of seeing it because it's very shallow: it doesn't go into the real roots of her poor self esteem and it feels like whatever progress she makes falls by the wayside as a result in order to keep her in the position of sniveling goon. It's fine if they want her to remain a villain, but there has to be more going on then "poor me" for Orca to feel like an actual developed character. Also is this how she ended up in jail during the Punchline backup over in the Joker book? I don't know and it seems like the writers don't care to give any conclusion to that plot thread.

I'm really hoping this isn't the end of Orca's involvement in this storyline because it would just be another example of the writer not planning ahead, getting bored and rushing things. If you as the writer don't give care about you've set up, you can't expect your readers to either.

If Orca shows up again in this book, I'll make a part three. If not, I have a certain clip waiting to be used.

Bonus: Variant cover art for Issue #5 by artist Nikola Cizmesija:

[chiimeramanticore]

Part of the Band - Chapter 1 - Unlikely

Fic summary: My take on the origins of the RAE but with a focus on slowburning Beach and Dook as a couple. Mostly plotted as I go, and I'm also notorious for never finishing my longfics so we'll just see how this one turns out lmao

Chapter word count: 1,196 Chapter 2 -> Read it on AO3!

Dook groans, sitting down against the outside wall of the bar. Kicked out... again. If he keeps this up, he's definitely going to get banned. But that deer was asking for it. He sighs, a hand floating up to his face to assess the damage. He got decked in the face... he can feel the swelling around his eye starting. Just great.

Other than that, he's... fine, for the most part. He moves his attention to his wallet. Opening it up, he finds a dollar bill, three quarters, three nickels, and two dimes. It might cover one last drink, but he's not allowed back in there right now... and it's not enough to do much of anything else. Let alone pay for another night at the motel.

Dook sighs, stuffing his wallet back in his pocket and leaning his head back against the wall. Looks like he'll have to play the town drunk for tonight. He considers finding somewhere more private to sleep, but he finds he has little desire to actually move. He considers going back home, but only for a second. He won't go back, and he knows it... but man, a bed would be nice right about now.

He feels a chill go through him, and pulls his coat tighter around him. It's cozier like this, and he closes his eyes. Someone's home nearby has left the window open, Christmas music gently making its way out onto the street. It's nice. So nice, in fact, that Dook doesn't realize he's drifting off to sleep until a voice knocks him out of it.

"Hey! You okay?"

Dook opens an eye– rather, he opens the eye that isn't swelling. "Huh?"

"You doing alright?" Dook looks up at him. It's a tall figure... a bear. White fur, blonde hair, dressed in a jacket and board shorts. By the looks of him, he's probably going to try to heckle him for money or something.

"Hey, can't you see I'm tryin' to sleep here? I don't got anything for you," Dook says.

"What? No, I'm– I'm trying to help you, man," the bear says, laughing a bit as he speaks. He crouches down to meet Dook, but is still taller than him at this level. "You look pretty beat up. Do you need me to take you to a hospital or something?"

"No," Dook says confidently. "Definitely not."

"Your face is pretty messed up, dude," the stranger says. "I can drive you, if that's what you're–"

"Listen, man," Dook says, "I can't afford a hospital, okay? Can't even afford a place to stay tonight, and you expect me to go with you to a hospital... It's just a black eye."

The stranger falls silent, and Dook avoids eye contact. He's embarrassed, but he's got to stand by this attitude if he wants him to leave him alone.

"...Well, a black eye isn't going to go away on its own, you know," the stranger says finally. "You could at least do with an ice pack. A bag of frozen peas, or something. I'm sure I've got something like that at my place. Free ride."

Dook looks at him, incredulous. "You expect me, to get into your car, and go to your house," he says. "You could be a serial killer for all I know."

"Do I look like a serial killer to you?"

"Yes."

The stranger sputters a bit. "Well, I. Well. Okay. That's fair. But the offer stands."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Dook asks.

"You can't, man," the stranger replies. "Just... I mean, it's either this or you stay out here in the cold all night."

Dook says nothing.

"Plus, it's... kinda the holidays," the stranger continues, standing. "Tis the season to be nice to people, or whatever."

Dook considers his options. It's true that his only alternative is falling asleep in the streets. Comparing that to being indoors, even if just for a bit... well, it's no contest. But he's still not certain he can trust this bear. Looking him up and down again, he considers his build. He's quite tall... and while not exactly lean, Dook can't tell if his size comes from actual muscle or just fluff. Realistically, if it came down to it, he wouldn't stand a chance against this guy in a fight.

...So why does he say yes?

"Alright," he says. "Fine. But only for that." He stands, and their height difference truly becomes apparent now. The stranger is at least a whole head taller than Dook.

"I never got your name, by the way," he says as they begin to walk.

"Oh. It's Dook," he tells him. "Dook Larue."

"Bond, James Bond," the stranger replies, and laughs at his own joke. "I'm just kidding. That's a nice name."

"What about you?"

"Call me Beach Bear."

Dook looks at him. "That's not your real name."

"But that's what they call me!" Beach Bear replies, picking up his stride. He stops at the corner of the street, the only car parked in sight. It's a faded blue convertible, thin and low to the ground. It's got some scuffs around the bumper and the front passenger door, but Beach Bear seems to smile proudly as he unlocks it.

"After you," he says, opening the door for Dook.

"...Sure." Dook gets in, followed by Beach in the driver's seat shortly after.

"Nice car, isn't it?" He says, turning the ignition. "I got her a few years back. Almost ten now, I think. We've been through a lot together, me and this car."

"I've never owned a car," Dook admits. "Never learned to drive."

"Awh, man, you should," Beach says. "Once you get a car of your own, and it's just you and the road, cruising down the highway... that's freedom. Feels like flying."

Dook's ears perk up. "Flying?"

"Yeah!" He laughs. "Or as close as any of us'll ever get."

"What about in a plane? Or– or a rocketship?"

"You ever been in a rocketship?" Beach Bear asks, eyeing Dook. Dook shakes his head. "That's what I thought. That's for a different breed, Dook. Different from me, at least."

"I dunno," Dook mutters, slouching a bit in his seat. "I think it'd be real neat to go to space someday."

"...Yeah?" Beach picks up on the embarrassment in Dook's voice, and softens a little. "That's interesting."

"It is," Dook tells him. "You saw the moon landing, didn't you?"

"Sure I did. Everyone has."

"I grew up during the Space Race," Dook says. "Guess it was just always in me." He chuckles. "But seeing a man on the moon... Gosh." He turns, staring out the window as they drive. "Guess it just made me feel like... anything is possible, y'know? Even I could do it if I really put my mind to it."

Beach Bear is quiet for a moment. "You really want to?" He asks.

"'Course I do," Dook replies.

"...Then hell, don't let anything stop you," he says. "We've got too many people giving up on their dreams these days."

"...Yeah." Dook doesn't say anything else, but he's grateful for those words. They're needed much more than Beach Bear knows.